


Great Inaudible Feelings

by invisibledaemon



Series: The Volumes We Mean [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Deaf Clint Barton, Eventual Smut, F/M, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Rest of the Avengers are here too but have smaller roles, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, disgustingly in love best friends, reluctant holiday cheer, set at Christmas because I've apparently never met a cliche I didn't like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-14 21:06:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 47,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4580136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibledaemon/pseuds/invisibledaemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has a soulmate, according to Steve and Bucky and the rest of the world. But Natasha is broken – her entire family is broken. Romanova women simply do not have soulmates, and Natasha has learned to be content with that. Who wants a couple of words on their skin telling them who to love anyway? </p><p>But then Clint Barton moves into her spare room and she discovers that, broken though she may be, she is not exempt from the weakness of falling in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from this Theodore Dreiser quote: “Words are but the vague shadows of the volumes we mean. Little audible links, they are, chaining together great inaudible feelings and purposes.”

“Once upon a time in a faraway kingdom there was a young woman named Patience. One day, Patience got her soulmark.”  


“What did it say, mama?” Natalia asked eagerly.

Nadya Romanova smiled indulgently at her young daughter. “It said _‘I believe you dropped this, miss.’_ For months, Patience wondered what her soulmate would look like and act like and what she would drop to bring about their meeting.

“One day as she was walking along the shore with her parents, a pearl hairpin fell out of her hair without her noticing. A moment later, she felt a tap on her shoulder and she turned to see the most handsome sailor she had ever seen holding her pin.”

“Was he her soulmate?”

“Wait and see, Natalia.

“The sailor said her words, and she was astonished that such a good young man would be her soulmate.”

“I knew it!”

“All Patience could think to say was ‘Thank you, kind sir.’ The man smiled, for those were the words on his soulmark. Patience and her parents were both delighted, and talk of a wedding began immediately, for in those times one did not wait long after finding their soulmate to wed.

“But there could be no wedding, for the sailor was due to be shipped out to sea the very next day. He promised Patience that they would marry as soon as he returned, and the next day she waved goodbye as the ship took her soulmate away.

“Every morning, Patience waited by the docks for news of when her soulmate’s ship would be returning. One morning, she heard the worst kind of news: the ship her soulmate had been on was attacked and was missing, and everyone on board was presumed dead.

“However, Patience believed her soulmate would never betray his promise to marry her. So every morning for a very long time, she waited by the docks for his ship to come in. Her family tried to arrange a marriage for her, as was custom when one’s soulmate had died, but she refused.

“Years passed, and still Patience stood out by the docks every morning, in every weather. She was an old woman when one morning a familiar ship finally appeared on the shore, and Patience could feel that her soulmate was on it. When the ship docked her soulmate, now as old as she, got off of the ship. He went over to meet her and proposed straightaway. And so her patience finally paid off. The end.”

Natalia had a little smile on her face, as she did whenever her mother told her a story. “Natalia,” Nadya said. “Can you tell me what’s wrong with that story?”

Natalia’s little brows knitted together. “What do you mean?”

“I’m going to tell you something, dear, and I want you to pay attention because it’s very important.” Natalia nodded seriously. “Do not waste your life waiting for a soulmate who may never come.”

“What –“

“Listen. Patience spent her entire life waiting for a man she barely knew, who might never have returned. I don’t want you to waste your life like that. Focus on your dancing.”

Natalia nodded again, though Nadya could tell she didn’t completely understand. This was probably the best she could do at this age. “Mama? Was my father your soulmate?”

Nadya smiled sadly and said simply, “No, dear. He wasn’t.”

“Then who was he?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” she said, though she never did. “Just remember, don’t wait around for your soulmate. Some people don’t even end up liking or staying with their soulmates. You don’t need one to have a complete life.”

“Okay, Mama,” Natalia said, closing her eyes. Nadya kissed her forehead and left. It wasn’t until years later, when she was on her deathbed, that she would tell Natalia the truth – that women in their family would never get their soulmarks.

 

The first pair of soulmates Natalia actually met were the American couple who adopted her after her mother died. She was only nine years old, but she could tell there was something about their relationship that wasn’t entirely loving. Everything about them, from their hair to their smiles to their personalities, seemed fake. Like they were giving a performance to the world.

They lived in a big house outside of New York City with three other adopted children - a science genius, a pianist, and a child actor. Despite living with them for three years, she never got to know her adopted siblings. She was kept busy with ballet practice, allowed to focus on nothing except for dance and school. She’d been a ballet prodigy in Russia, one of the youngest performers in the country, and this was the only interest her adopted parents really had in her.

They changed her name as soon as she came to America into something less Russian sounding, despite her protests. It was not long before Natalia – now Natasha – learned that her adoptive parents were simply incapable of love.

 

All through high school and college, Natasha was convinced she wasn’t missing much by not having a soulmate. Most people her age hadn’t gotten their marks yet anyway and passed the time with casual hook-ups.

She met Steve in college. The scrawny, sickly guy who never knew how to back down from a fight quickly became her best friend. But despite his relentless romanticism about soulmates, he did not quite managed to convince her they were a good thing.

She remained unmoved by the idea until a few years out of college, when Steve met his soulmate. Bucky Barnes was a wounded veteran out on permanent disability. Steve helped Bucky deal with his PTSD, and Bucky soon became as protective of Steve as Natasha was. They were close and they were good for each other. Seeing their relationship, Natasha finally started to envy people who had soulmates.

But she was broken. Her entire family line was broken. Her grandmother had been convinced that they were cursed because of something an ancestor had done, and Natasha was starting to think that maybe she was right. She was resigned, though, and knew better than to hope for something that would never come. 

\--------------------

If there was one thing Natasha hated, it was not being able to find something when she needed it. Particularly when she was in a hurry to get going. Particularly when that something was her underwear.

She had gathered up her bra and dress, and was just about to look under the bed when the man behind her spoke.

“Hey.”

She turned, and the naked man lying on the bed – Robert? Randy? – was holding her underwear on one finger. “Oh, thanks,” she said, taking them and slipping them on.

“You can spend the night, you know.”

She scoffed internally. Natasha had had a lot of one night stands, but she had spent the night at a man’s place only once before and regretted it instantly. The morning after was terribly awkward. She’d been young and inexperienced. She knew better now. 

Instead of telling him all this, she said simply, “I don’t spend the night.”

The guy – maybe it was Richard? She was reasonably certain it started with an ‘R’, but the bar they met at had been very loud – nodded groggily. “Yeah, I leave after too. We’re the same, you and me.” He wiggled his finger between the two of them. “Can’t imagine what it’s gonna be like when we get our marks, huh? People like us aren’t meant for soulmates.”

Natasha bristled. Why did men always assume they knew her just because they’d had sex?

Even though she did kind of agree with him on that one.

“Yeah,” she muttered, pulling on her shoes and picking up her purse where she’d left it by the door. Robert/Randy/Richard was half asleep by this point, but she threw him a quick wave anyway and left.  

She walked to the nearest subway. There were only a few other people on board at this hour - a couple of drunk, giggling girls sitting together and an old man further down. She took a seat as far away from others as she could. She rested her head against the seat behind her and her eyes caught the ads lining the walls. There was one for an upcoming movie, _An Illicit Affair – What would you do if you had to choose between your soulmate and your country?_ That sounded idiotic. Then there was another for a dating website called “Second Chances,” for people whose soulmates had died. The one next to it displayed a grinning blonde woman – _Erica Arthur, number one wedding planner in the city!_ Her slogan was: _You found your soulmate. Let me take care of the rest._

Like it was difficult to find your soulmate? Words appear somewhere on your skin, then some months later you meet someone who says those words to you. There, you’ve found them. Exhausting. Better not exert yourselves by planning a wedding. You might actually have to work at something now instead of having your life partner chosen for you by some unknowable cosmic force.

She could practically hear Steve’s voice in her head; _Don’t be so cynical, Nat. You’ll change your mind one day. Soulmates are a beautiful thing._

Ignoring the voice of Steve’s semi-annual, ‘soulmates are great, Natasha, and here’s why’ lecture, she hopped off the subway and walked the rest of the way to the apartment she shared with him. She wasn’t sure if Steve was even home, as he spent so many nights at Bucky’s lately, but she opened the door quietly just in case.

Steve wasn’t up, but Bucky was in the kitchen, heating up a pot of soup on the stove.

“Hey, Nat,” he greeted. He was wearing nothing but pajama pants, so she could see his prosthetic arm. Bucky and Steve had met eight months ago, but it had taken three months until he’d felt comfortable wearing short sleeves around Steve, and five for Natasha.

“What are you doing up?” Natasha asked, toeing off her shoes and going around to sit at the counter. “It’s 2:00 in the morning.”

Bucky just smirked and waggled his eyebrows. She rolled her eyes. “Where is my actual roommate?”

“Asleep.” Another suggestive look. “I wore him out. But I needed sustenance. I’m guessing you do too.” He ladled soup into two bowls and slid one to her.

“Thanks.”

“So, how was your monthly lay?”

Natasha paused with the spoon half way to her mouth. “My what?”

Bucky raised his eyebrow. “You know. About once a month you dress up all hot-“ he looked pointedly at her neckline. “Go to a bar, make some guy’s night, then come home.”

Damn. Was she that predictable?

“I do not do it once a month…” Though now that she thought about it…

Bucky smirked at her. “You totally do. Must be the phases of the moon or something.”

“It’s not exactly a month, I’m sure.”

“It so is. I remember because last time me and Steve were both still up when you got home and then we watched _Chopped_ together. Then the month before that, I was here when you were getting ready, and that was about a month before.” Natasha remained silent. “Don’t you think it’s weird that you have sex like clockwork?”

She finished her soup and pushed away from the counter. “I think it’s weird you’re counting.”

“What can I say?” He shrugged. “I’m observant.”

\-------------

Practicing ballet had always relaxed Natasha. It was the one constant she had, the one thing that had been with her since childhood and through her entire life, and it always had the ability to soothe her.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

“I _know_ that, you loser.”

“ _You’re_ the one losing.”

Teaching ballet, on the other hand, was not so relaxing.

“You’re both doing it wrong,” Natasha said, using her patient teacher voice. “Pietro, you’re jumping entirely too fast. Wanda, you’re just lifting your foot too high, it’s throwing off your balance. Try again.”

Natasha watched as the twins spun and jumped, taking mental notes on areas to improve, of which there were few. Wanda and Pietro were her best students, despite also being her youngest.

After college, Natasha had decided to turn her part-time ballet instruction job into a full-time career. Last year, she had finally saved up enough to buy her own studio so she could stop renting. Her days were usually full, of both short and long-term students, usually teenagers and young adults. They were almost always individual lessons. Except the twins.

She was taking them through the cool down when Pietro asked her, “Do you have your soulmark?”

Natasha blinked. That question had come out of nowhere. “No. Why?”

“Girl at school got hers,” he answered, stretching his arms over his head.

“And of course now she’s suddenly popular,” Wanda said with an eye roll. “Everyone is so impressed because she’s so young. Even the teachers fawn over her.”

“I think it’s kind of cool,” Pietro said. Natasha wasn’t entirely sure if he was saying this because he thought it was true or just to irritate his sister.

“I think it’s lame,” Wanda said coolly. “It’s not even that impressive, all it says is _‘Sorry.’”_

“Well, _I_ can’t wait to get my soulmark. I’m dying to meet my soulmate.”

“Don’t be too eager, Pietro,” Natasha warned.

“Why not?”

She debated for a moment whether to tell him her opinion on soulmates, but quickly decided against it. No need to burden him with her cynicism at such a young age. "You have your whole life to meet your soulmate,” she said, trying to sound sage. “It’ll happen when it happens.”

“Soulmates are dumb anyway,” Wanda insisted. Natasha decided that she was her favorite student.

“You just don’t understand romance,” Pietro said loftily.

“I understand more than _you._ ”

“Impossible, I’m 12 minutes older – oops.” Pietro slapped his hand over his mouth, but it was too late.

Wanda let out a triumphant “ha!” and Natasha smirked. “You know what to do.”

Pietro sighed but did his dozen pliés, Natasha’s ballet version of ‘drop and give me 20,’ without complaint.

The twins left a few minutes later and Natasha went to check her phone. She had two messages: one from Pepper about getting together for lunch this weekend, and one from her next appointment, canceling her session.

Despite being frustrated by the last minute cancellation, she was happy for the early end to her day. 

She debated briefly between going out to grab dinner and just going straight home. She was kind of craving Thai. But if she went home now she’d catch Steve before he started making dinner and he’d probably make her some too. Home-cooking quickly won out.

As she walked home, her phone vibrated in her pocket. 

_Pepper: Tony made me a robot that reminds me when I have to take my birth control pill._

Before she could respond, another one came in.

_Pepper: Honestly, I make one comment to the man about wanting kids in the future and he panics._

_Pepper: Did I say I wanted them right now? No. I said future. I was very clear about that._

_Natasha: Let’s see what happens if I give him some baby clothes for Christmas._

_Pepper: I know what will happen – I’ll murder you._

Natasha grinned and sent back a winky face.

She’d only met Tony Stark a few times, even though he and Pepper had met months ago. But still, despite his somewhat abrasive nature, Natasha liked him and thought he was a good match for her friend. The universe had done a decent job on that one.

And okay, the universe had done a pretty good job on her roommate, too. Like Pietro, Steve had been one of those people that couldn’t wait to meet his soulmate, and he had not been disappointed when he met Bucky – even though their first meeting consisted of Steve having to arrest him. They were the best example of soulmates Natasha had ever seen, and she loved them both dearly.

But she did _not_ need to see graphic examples of their love. Especially not on her kitchen counter. But as soon as she got home and opened the front door, she got an eyeful. 

“Guys, oh my god!” Natasha yelled and covered her eyes with one hand, trying desperately to un-see. But it was far too late. The mental image of her best friend being bent over the kitchen counter was going to be burnt into her retinas for the foreseeable future.

“Nat, shit!” Steve sounded embarrassed. She could hear him sliding off the counter and scrambling to pull his pants up. “What are you doing home?!”

She counted to ten in her head before she was willing to open her eyes again, and was thankful that they both now had pants on. Steve was flushed and refused to meet her eyes. Bucky was smirking, the bastard. He would find this funny.

“I had a cancellation, I came home early. I have never regretted anything more.”

Steve groaned, dropping his head into his hands. Natasha was tempted to stay just to mess with him, but she was having a little trouble fighting back a blush herself.

“For fuck’s sake, at least disinfect the counter,” she said as she turned around to go through the front door. Looked like she would be getting Thai food after all.  

“We always do!” She heard Bucky yell as she closed the door.

_Ugh._

_\---------------_

The next night Steve and Bucky cooked her favorite food, chili, presumably to make up for her mental scarring. Although this wasn’t the first time she had walked in on them (they did have a remarkable inability to keep it to the bedroom), it was the most she had ever seen. The other times they had, mercifully, not gotten that far before she accidentally interrupted. 

But she only teased them a little bit, despite how much she loved winding Steve up, because he had walked in on her before, too. She didn’t have a soulmate, but she was 25 years old, and she had been rooming with Steve since college.

Steve was a little old-fashioned though, and always insisted he was “saving himself” for his soulmate, no matter how many times she’d tried to get him to hook up with someone in college. After he met Bucky, he told her it was well worth the wait with such a love-struck look on his face that she couldn’t even bring herself to tease him. It was a look she saw on his face quite often, in fact, since he’d met Bucky.

Including now, even though all Bucky was doing was setting the steaming pot of chili on the table.

“Is there cornbread?” Natasha asked.

“What are we, animals? Of course there’s cornbread.” He slid the plate of it over to her.

“How was work?” Steve asked her, ladling chili into his bowl.

“Make anyone cry today?”

“That was one time, Buck.” Natasha rolled her eyes. “She bragged every chance she got about having four years of ballet experience and she was terrible. She needed a little tough love.”

“That’s what I love about you, Nat.” Bucky grinned. “You’re a sensitive soul.”

“How are the costumes coming along?” Natasha asked Steve, who was being oddly quiet.

“Good. I’ll need you for a fitting soon.”

“A fitting? You didn’t need to measure me last year.”

“These costumes are going to be so much cooler than last year, though,” Steve said excitedly. “We’ve never done a three person group costume before, this is serious business.”

Bucky nodded sagely. “ _Toy Story_ costumes are the epitome of serious business.”

The conversation lulled after that, but Natasha got the impression that Steve and Bucky were having their own silent argument. Bucky nudged Steve with his arm, Steve looked up to glare at him. Bucky raised his eyebrows and glanced towards her. Steve looked at her nervously. Natasha tried not to get annoyed.

Eventually, Bucky seemed to win their silent debate because Steve sighed and put his spoon down.

“Natasha, there’s something we need to tell you.”

“You’re pregnant.”

He gave her an exasperated look. “You know what, Romanoff?”

Natasha smirked. “Sorry. Go on.”

He exchanged another glance with Bucky, who nodded and placed his hand over Steve’s across the table. She started to get a little concerned.

“Bucky and I have decided to move in together. Into his place.”

Steve was looking at her like he was afraid she was going to explode. Bucky appeared to have a little more confidence in her, but he was still waiting for her reaction.

“What, before you get married? You hussies.”

Bucky laughed loudly, and Steve looked relieved.

“I’m happy for you,” she continued. And she was. She and Steve had been roommates for a long time, but Natasha was under no delusions that it would last forever. Nothing good ever did.

“Thanks,” Steve said, picking his spoon back up.

“Told you there was nothing to worry about,” Bucky told him. He turned to Natasha. “He thought you were going to throw a fit.”

“I did not,” Steve argued. “All I said was you’re not a big believer in the soulmate thing and that you might not be overly pleased.”

The way Bucky raised his eyebrows at her indicated that Steve may have been downplaying his words a bit.

“I always knew someday your soulmate would come take you away from me,” Natasha said, injecting as much levity as she could into her voice. “And you’ve never been happier than you are with Bucky. It’s disgusting, actually, how happy you are.”

Steve and Bucky exchanged a thoroughly disgusting look.

“Just wait,” Bucky said. “You’ll meet your soulmate soon and be just as disgusting to those around you.”

“Then we’ll get to tease you,” Steve added.

“I don’t have a soulmate,” Natasha reminded them. They _knew_ this. She didn’t know why they kept acting like they didn’t.

“Natasha, you don’t know that –“

“I do, Steve. You know my mother didn’t have one. You know my grandmother didn’t have one. And probably everyone on that side of the family, if I could trace it back.”

“They must have died before they could get their marks.”

“My grandmother lived to age 75,” Natasha said. “Maybe there’s some chance my mom could have died before she got hers, but it’s extremely rare to not get your marks until that late.”

“But not unheard of,” Bucky pointed out.

“Everyone has a soulmate, Natasha,” Steve insisted, reaching across the table for her hand. She let him, but was resisting the urge to roll her eyes. She loved Steve, really she did. He was her best friend. But the guy was a hopeless romantic. “I’m sure of it.”

Natasha thought it must be nice to be so confident in the good nature of the universe, but she sure wasn’t. The universe had been pretty unforgiving to her in the past. She had no reason to believe it would turn over a new leaf now.

\-----------------

She may have talked a big game about being fine with Steve moving out, but the reality of it honestly didn’t hit her until the boxes started appearing the very next day. Apparently the goal was for him to be out on November 1st, which made sense. That’s when the lease was up. But still, that was one week away. She should probably think about finding a new roommate.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to look far.

A few days after Steve and Bucky dropped their co-habitation bomb, Natasha was having lunch with Pepper at their favorite pizza place. Besides Steve and Bucky, Pepper was easily her closest friend. Not that there was a lot of competition; Natasha had a small circle, and preferred it that way.

Pepper was telling her about the latest Tony Stark adventure, which involved no less than three minor explosions and some significant property damage.

“At least it was his own property this time,” Natasha said.

Pepper snorted. “Yeah, unlike the ‘experimental robot in the park’ incident. That man.” She shook her head fondly.

“I assume he’s still in his lab now?”

“The garage, actually. He got a new car. That damn garage is the only place that’s harder to get him out of than his lab.”

Natasha nodded. She knew this. Pepper had told her this many, many times.

“What about you?” Pepper asked. “Anything new?”

“Well, Steve is moving out.”

Pepper gasped. “Really?” She asked, grinning and clapping her hands together.

“Uh… yes?” Natasha didn’t bother to hide her confusion at her friend’s reaction. “He’s moving in with Bucky.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Pepper said, still smiling. “I’m excited because I know someone who’s looking for a new place! You are going to be wanting a new roommate, right?”

“Yeah.”

“His name is Clint Barton, he’s Tony’s friend,” Pepper said. “I think you’ll like him. He’s our age, runs an animal shelter. He’s funny, and he puts up with Tony, which you know is a rare skill. You want to meet him?”

Natasha shrugged. “Sure, why not? Bring him to the Halloween party.”

“Okay! Starts at 8:00, right?”

“Yep. You and Tony figure out your costumes yet?”

Pepper gave a long-suffering sigh. “Gangsters. Unoriginal, I know. But Tony would only agree to a costume where he got to wear a suit.”

“Why?”

“Something about his dignity, I don’t know. So it was either a gangster or James Bond. And I refuse to be Pussy Galore.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the first chapter! She'll meet Clint in the next one, promise. :) 
> 
> I plan to update about once a week, depending on how fast I can edit. 
> 
> I haven't written in a while, so comments/concrit are appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

The Halloween party had been a tradition for Natasha and Steve since they graduated college, once they finally had an apartment large enough to accommodate more than four or five people at a time. Even with the bigger apartment, though, it was a fairly large party for the size of their place. They were sort of pushing the bounds of the fire safety code here. Thankfully, Steve let the party flow into his mostly emptied out room, allowing them all some space to breathe.

“Nice spread,” Sigmund Freud said, coming to stand by her at the food and drink table where she was re-stocking the alcohol.

“Really, Sam? Freud?” She had to speak loudly to be heard over the sound of Monster Mash.

“Therapists gotta represent,” was all he said in his defense. “Seriously though, the pumpkin vomiting guacamole? Nice touch.”

“Go tell Steve, it was all him. Including the costumes.” Natasha gestured down to her outfit, which looked like it had been made professionally.

Matching costumes had also been a tradition for her and Steve, only this year they’d had to come up with one for three people. So there she was, dressed like Jessie from _Toy Story_ , complete with braids and a cowgirl hat. She was just grateful that she didn’t have to wear a wig. Bucky had grumbled for days about having to wear a purple swim cap.

“Well,” she continued, as her eye caught the one tray on the table that she was responsible for. “I did make the Jell-O shots.”

“So, they’re 90% vodka then?”

“Yep. Ancient Russian recipe.”

Which explained why Natasha was feeling a little tipsy after downing five of them.

“Nat, there you are!” Woody - Steve - shouted, dragging Bucky over to them. “We need a group picture!”

She was just tipsy enough to allow herself to be hoisted onto their shoulders, bending her head slightly so she wouldn’t hit the ceiling. It was a little unbalanced, since Bucky was quite a bit taller than Steve. She could hear people around them sniggering as they struggled to keep her upright. Finally, Bucky gripped her legs and Steve put a hand on her back. Sam knelt down to get her in frame and snapped away with his phone.

“Ow!” Steve yelped suddenly, laughing. “Bucky, your wing is poking my back.”

“You weren’t complaining last –“

“No!” Natasha shouted. “Don’t need to know any more, thank you.”

Bucky just laughed and released her legs so she could jump down. Sam flipped his phone over to show them the picture, and Natasha couldn’t help but smile. She and Bucky were both grinning, and Steve looked like he was in mid-laugh. Her cheeks were flushed from a combination of laughter and alcohol, her hat slightly askew. She showed that much open happiness very rarely, and pretty much only in the company of the other two people in the picture.

“Send me that,” she told Sam.

“Of course. And hey, now that you’re all here, guess what?” He sounded excited.

“What?” Steve asked.

“I got my mark!” Sam exclaimed, pulling up his coat and undershirt to reveal his side, where the words, ‘ _You always dress like that?’_ were scrawled, stretching from his hip bone to the middle of his ribs. They had to tilt their heads to read it.

“Congratulations, man, that’s awesome!” Bucky said, pulling him into a hug. Steve and Natasha seconded the sentiment and piled into the hug.

“Thanks!” Sam was still grinning when they released him. “I wonder how long it’ll take.”

“Only took a month for us,” Steve said, trying and failing to put his arm around Bucky over the wings. Bucky put his arm around Steve instead, accidentally hitting him with the painted cardboard again.

“I hope I’m that lucky,” Sam said. “It can take up to a year.”

“It’ll be worth the wait,” Bucky said, smiling down at Steve. Natasha turned to Sam, as this was usually where they would make gagging noises at each other while Steve and Bucky were being gross, but he was smiling wistfully at them, the traitor.

“You guys excited to move in together?” Sam asked with a grin.

“Oh yeah,” Steve said. “But I am seriously re-decorating that place.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “This jerk has the weirdest taste in decorations. The only reason this place looks normal now is because all his weird-ass canvases are packed.”

“I am an amateur artist!” Steve said defensively. “I have an excellent eye for décor.”

“You pick up the strangest shit at flea markets,” Bucky said. “Because they match some sort of ‘aesthetic.’ Which means they all look like they were painted by a drunk, angry Jackson Pollock.”

Natasha would normally join in on the Steve teasing, but the reminder that he was moving out dampened her spirit a bit. She was grateful for the distraction when the doorbell rang and left the conversation without a word. She grabbed the bowl of candy in case it was trick-or-treaters and opened the door.

“Stick ‘em up, stick ‘em up!”

“I hope those are fake, Stark. Steve has rules about armed civilians in the apartment.”

Tony grinned and slid the guns back into the holsters under his pin-striped jacket.

“Where’s Pepper?” Natasha asked, scanning the hallway behind him.

“Am I not good enough?” Tony asked, putting his hand to his heart as though she had wounded him.  Natasha just stared. “She’s on her way up. I came ahead so I could surprise you at the door.” He winked. Natasha wondered if Pepper knew about the guns. Probably. There wasn’t much Tony-related that she didn’t know.

“Ah, there’s my lovely mate,” Tony said, looking off to his left. Natasha peeked further around the door.

Pepper was also in a pin-striped suit, but hers was a skirt instead of pants and the jacket synched at the waist. It looked far too fancy to be a real costume. Natasha would have bet it was tailor-made and cost more than her rent. 

But her train of thought took a quick jump off the tracks when she spotted the person walking just behind Pepper.

Sandy brown hair. Tall, but not exceptionally so. Rugged face, from what she could see, though he was looking down and fiddling with something on his belt. His arms were… damn. They were clearly outlined through the material of his shirt. What the hell did he do to get arms like that? And the _costume._ White long-sleeved shirt, black vest, black pants. It may not have been as detailed as her costume, but she’d know that outfit anywhere. He was Han Solo.

Her admiration of this stranger skyrocketed.

“Natasha!” Pepper smiled when she came up to the door, and the stranger’s eyes finally lifted from adjusting his faux blaster and met hers.

“Natasha,” Pepper repeated, stepping to the side slightly so she wasn’t blocking the stranger. “This is Clint Barton. Clint, Natasha Romanoff.”

She stuck out her hand and Clint took it – warm, rough palms. She repressed a pleasant shiver.

“Nice to meet you,” she said.

Clint’s eyes widened and he said softly, “Please let it be you.”

“… huh?”

Tony laughed, reminding her that he was there and that they were all still standing in the hallway. Casting a curious glance at Clint, who now appeared strangely crestfallen, she invited them in. Tony patted Clint sympathetically on the back as they came in.

“Wow, there are a lot of people here,” Pepper said.

“They’re mostly Steve and Bucky’s friends,” Natasha told her distractedly, unable to keep her eyes from sliding towards Clint again. He was rubbing the back of his head and looking around, but he caught her eye as soon as she turned toward him.

“I knew Pepper was your only friend,” Tony said, and Pepper smacked his shoulder.

“We’re going to go say hi to Steve and Bucky,” Pepper said, grabbing Tony by the arm. “You two get to know each other!”

And they were off, leaving Natasha standing there with Clint, who was shifting his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly.

“Sorry about before,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “I, uh… well, here.”

He lifted his shirt and vest up, and Natasha was confused for a moment before she saw the mark on his abs – which were not distracting at all, nope – and understood. Stretching almost from one hip bone to the other were the words _‘Nice to meet you’_ written across his lower abdomen.

“Ah,” she said, feeling a strange pang in her chest for some reason. It’s not like it could have been disappointment – she had no mark, she knew he couldn’t have been her soulmate anyway. Not that she would have wanted that. She had barely met the guy. 

“Sorry about that,” she continued.

Clint shrugged, brushing his shirt back down. “I’ve had this thing for nearly five months, and I’ve had four false alarms.”

“Too bad your soulmate couldn’t be a little more original.”

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that she thought suited him. He finally lifted his eyes to meet hers again, and they were really blue. Or blue-green. It was hard to tell in this lighting.

“So, uh, Pepper told me you’re looking for a new roommate?”

“Yeah. Mine’s moving in with his soulmate,” she said. “That’s them over there.” She pointed to them where they stood talking to Tony and Pepper.

Clint smirked. “Oh, so you’re Jessie. Which is your roommate, Buzz or Woody?”

“Woody.”

“Ah. Well, my roommate’s soulmate is moving in with him,” Clint said. “And as much as I like them, I have no desire to live with a pair of soulmates during their honeymoon period.”

“I know what you mean. Steve and Bucky can’t keep it in their pants. Or in the bedroom.”

“Yes!” Clint exclaimed. “Thor and Jane are the same. I _sit_ on that couch,” he grumbled. “Or I used to. It’ll never be the same again.”

“I’d avoid the kitchen counter, then,” Natasha said.

“Is the fridge safe?” He asked, eyes wide and scared, as he’d been leaning against it during their conversation.

“As far as I know.”

He sighed over-dramatically in relief.

“You want a drink?” She asked after a moment of awkward silence. “We’ve got a huge cooler over by the snack table.”

“Sure. Lead the way.” He made a sweeping gesture with his arm.

“Just in case you get lost in the ten steps it takes to get there.”

“Exactly.”

“Ta-da,” she said tonelessly when they arrived. She opened the cooler to reveal several drinks, mostly variations of beer and soda. Clint grabbed a beer.

“Want one?”

“No, thanks,” she said. “Not unless some vodka or a bottle of wine found its way in there.”

“Not that I can see, sorry.”

“That’s okay. I’ve got Jell-O shots.”

He perked up. “Jell-O shots?”

Natasha smirked and handed him one. He grimaced as he swallowed it. “Damn, that’s strong.” He threw the plastic cup into the nearby trashcan and then his eyes caught the window. “Oh hey, you’re pretty high up here. How’s the view?”

“It’s just the street below,” Natasha said, but led him over to see anyway. Through the window all there really was to see were cars and people walking along the street. The building next to them blocked anything else. “The view really depends on how perverse people are feeling.”

“I feel like there’s a story behind that,” Clint said with a smile.

“Nothing too scandalous, I’m afraid. A couple fights, some drug use. Lots of yelling.”

“I once saw a man soliciting a prostitute outside my window,” Clint said, almost as if he was bragging. “And a subsequent confrontation with the cops. I’ve seen lots of arrests out that window.”

“All that excitement, why would you ever wanna leave?”

He laughed. “The crime rate I can live with. It’s the amorous roommates that are driving me nuts.”

“That bad?”

“Like all soulmates in their honeymoon period, I suppose.” He shrugged and Natasha noticed he rubbed his abdomen, where his soulmark was hidden under his shirt. Probably subconsciously, because he immediately jerked his hand away and suddenly became very interested in the view again, refusing to meet her eyes.

Ignoring once again the strange pang she felt in her chest at the reminder of his mark, she tried to come up with something else to talk about.

“So,” she said after a moment. “How did you meet Tony?”

“Found his cat.” Clint leaned against the wall and sipped his beer. “He came into the shelter to get him, made a big enough donation to keep us running for the next three years.” Natasha felt her eyebrows go up. “Yeah,” Clint said. “He says thank you through exorbitant amounts of money.”

“I can see that about him,” Natasha said, just as the man himself walked up with Pepper.

“Hey kids,” he said. “What are we talking about?”

“Your fake goatee,” Clint teased. “It _is_ part of your costume, right?”

“That’s what I assumed,” Natasha said.

Tony glared at them and Pepper smirked. “Nat, can I use your bathroom? There’s a line for the one in Steve’s room.”

“Go ahead,” Natasha said.

“Can _I_ –“

“No, Stark. Only Pepper gets special bathroom privileges.”

Tony pouted as Pepper left. Natasha saw that he was stroking his goatee and smirked. He noticed and quickly dropped his hand, to Clint’s amusement.

“Least I didn’t come as Han Solo for the fifth year in a row,” Tony grumbled.

“Hey.” Clint pointed an accusing finger at his friend. “There will be no Han Solo bashing.”

“Seconded,” Natasha said. Clint smiled at her like he’d found an ally. “It’s a house rule. I’ve kicked people out for less.”

“Oh, god.” Tony sighed. “You’re both nerds.”

“ _We’re_ nerds?” Clint said incredulously. “You have entire floors in your building dedicated to robots. You _name_ them.”

“He what?” Maria Hill, from Steve’s precinct, came up behind them, smirking at Tony. “Did he just say you name your robots?”

“I don’t even know you!” Tony’s face was reddening in his frustration. Natasha and Maria gave him twin impatient glares. 

“Oh, I can do this!” Clint said. He turned and glared at Tony with them, crossing his arms for added effect. He could apparently have quite an intimidating face when he wanted to. She found it oddly attractive.

“Oh my god,” Tony said. “Don’t let Pepper know you can do this. She’ll recruit you to come glare me out of my lab when I stay down there too long.” He paused. “Though Natasha’s braids kinda lessen the effect.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I figured.”

A minute later, Sam came over and dragged Maria off to a drinking contest, which Tony gleefully went to join. Natasha, finally remembering why Clint was actually there, said, “Do you want to see what would be your room?”

“Sure, yeah.”

She guided him to Steve’s room – well, Steve’s old room now, she supposed, as he’d only be spending one more night there. It was bare of almost all traces of inhabitance. Almost the only thing of Steve’s that remained unpacked was his bedding.

There was a group of people in there standing around an old patio table playing beer pong. As far as she could tell they were all terrible, none of them drinking at all. 

“You have your own bathroom,” she said, gesturing to the room directly across from them. The path was blocked by the beer pong players, and there were two people standing in front of the closed door. “The bed came with the apartment, so that’s included.”

“Is the beer pong table included? Cause that would sell me.”

“That’s Steve's,” Natasha said. “Though I’m sure Bucky would love to be rid of it.”

The beer pong players, who she now recognized as nameless faces from Steve’s precinct, finally gave up on the game and cleared out. Clint and Natasha flattened themselves against the wall to allow them to pass through the door, a movement that ended up pressing them close together. She felt a strange pull of attraction as they touched, so strong that she was frozen for a moment.

When she finally gathered herself and stepped away, she was left in the rare situation where she couldn’t come up with anything to say. She could feel the awkward silence fall like a palpable energy over them. Natasha was usually able to converse with anyone, even people she didn’t particularly like. She didn’t know why Clint would be different than everyone else, why she couldn’t just put on a social mask like she usually did and charm the pants off him. It was frustrating.

She was extremely grateful when Steve and Bucky arrived a moment later.

“Hey,” Steve said. “There you are. We wondered where you got off to.”

“This the new roommate?” Bucky asked.

She thought about it for a second. She didn’t know much about Clint, other than he apparently liked _Star Wars_ , ran an animal shelter, and had well-developed biceps. But still, despite the awkward silence, Natasha had a good feeling about him and had liked him right away. There were only two other people in her life whom she’d liked immediately after meeting them: Steve and Pepper. She figured that was a good sign. 

She did have this irritating attraction to Clint, but she’d get over that soon enough.

“Yeah,” she said. “If I haven’t scared him off yet.”

“Hardly scared at all,” Clint said, throwing a smirk her way and _okay_ , he shouldn’t be allowed to do that. Especially not dressed as Han Solo. Especially since she couldn’t have sex with him; having a one night stand with her new roommate definitely wasn’t a good idea, despite what her hormones might think.

“Cool,” Bucky said. “You guys wanna play beer pong?” He gestured to the now vacated table. “One set of new roommates against another?”

“Nat and Bucky are amazing at this game,” Steve told Clint. “You any good?”

Clint smirked and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I’m alright.”

That was an understatement, as they all soon found out. He made every shot, to Natasha’s delight and Steve and Bucky’s frustration. Clint threw the ball casually, so it hardly even looked like he was trying. Steve and Bucky landed a lot of their shots at first, but were soon too drunk to aim properly. Clint was tipsy, but it didn’t seem to affect his aim at all. And Natasha’s alcohol tolerance was unparalleled.

“How are you doing that?” Steve asked, taking another sip of beer and giggling.

“I’ve got good aim,” Clint said with a shrug.

“ _I’ve_ got good aim,” Natasha said. “You’ve got a superpower.”

He shot her a grin and made another shot without looking.

“That’s it,” Bucky said, after throwing back another cup of beer. Natasha mused that he wouldn’t have been nearly as drunk if he didn’t drink the entire cup every time. “We have to get you drunker before we play this again.”

They went back to the main party, and Bucky and Clint discovered that they drank the same kind of beer. This led to some kind of bro bonding that, best as Natasha could tell, involved silently drinking and looking mysteriously off into the distance.

She and Steve just shrugged at each other and walked a little ways off.

“So, new roommate, huh?” Steve asked.

“Apparently.”

“He seems like a good guy.”

Natasha turned to look at Clint. Bucky was clearly egging him on to chug his beer. Clint shrugged and obeyed, his biceps straining against the material of his shirt. She quickly looked away. 

“Yeah, he does.”

She’d had the same roommate for the last six years, so she wasn’t sure how she would adjust to a new one. But she supposed she would find out soon enough.

\--------------

Steve moved out the next day.

The process went pretty smoothly. Natasha bottled up her emotions, which was always easier to do when she had a task. It took about an hour to clean up from the party, and another to get Steve’s stuff down to the moving van. Sam, who had passed out on the couch the night before, sped the process along. Natasha, Steve, and Bucky were thoroughly amused that he had to help them while still in costume. Steve refused to lend him any normal clothes, claiming he’d packed them all up already.

So hardly more than two hours after she’d woken up that morning, Natasha found herself standing in the entry way, hugging Steve and trying not to cry.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he said quietly.

“You’ll know where to find me,” Natasha said to reassure both of them.  

He nodded against her shoulder and released her, taking a step back and clearing his throat. Natasha knew the tell-tale signs of an impending Steve Rogers cry and did her best to lighten the mood; once he started, the chances of her keeping her cool decreased significantly.

“You’re the one leaving me, Rogers,” she said, kicking him playfully on the shin.

“We’re two subway stops away,” Bucky said, hugging her next. “And don’t worry, we’ll still come over so much you’ll be sick of the sight of us.”

“You’re toeing that line right now, actually.”

“I never lived with you,” Sam said. “But I’m gonna miss you, too!” He threw himself at her, hugging her and pretending to sob. Natasha made shushing noises and patted him on the head. Bucky laughed and Steve rolled his eyes.

“You did crash on our couch a lot in college,” Steve pointed out.

“Is it my fault you insisted I was too drunk to get home?”

“It was your fault you’re a lightweight,” Natasha teased, shoving him off her shoulder.

“You’re a meanie. I’m glad I’m moving out.” Sam stuck his nose up.

“We should probably get going,” Bucky said gently, his hand on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve nodded, fingers clutching the straps of his backpack, and hugged her one more time.

“Get out of here,” she said, hoping futilely that he couldn’t hear her voice catch.

“Love you, too,” Steve said, and okay, at least his voice was breaking a little too. She felt him take a deep breath and let go. Bucky wrapped his arm around his shoulders and the three men walked out the door.

Natasha shut it, leaned against it, and looked into her apartment. It had never looked emptier.

She knew she was being ridiculous, that it wasn’t actually that much emptier than before. She got to keep most of the furniture, because they had bought most of it jointly and Bucky had plenty of his own. He’d taken the arm chair, but the couch was big and the living room hardly looked the scarcer without it. Most of the cool kitchen stuff had been Steve’s – the waffle iron, the blender, a bunch of other appliances she hadn’t even known what to do with. She was left with enough of the basics to get by, considering she hardly ever cooked anyway.

Crap, was she going to have to cook now? Probably. Damn.

But it was the knowledge of Steve’s absence that made the place feel emptier. She had never minded being alone before she started rooming with Steve, but she had gotten used to having her best friend one room away for the past six years.

Well, she wouldn’t be alone for long. Clint was moving in later that day, apparently very eager to get out of Thor and Jane’s “love shack,” as he’d called it last night. She’d only be without a roommate for a few more hours. But it was still a strange feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed chapter two!
> 
> Next time: Natasha gets to know her new roommate, who is still irritatingly attractive.


	3. Chapter 3

Clint had told her he’d be moving in at two, but it was almost three when she heard a knock at the door. She looked through the peephole first, then swung the door open to reveal Clint, Tony, and a blonde man she didn’t know on the other side. Tony and Clint were both holding one large box, but the other man had a large one and two smaller ones on top, obscuring almost his entire face.  

She stood aside so they could trudge in.

“Hey, Natasha,” Clint grunted as he carried his box into the living room. Tony and the other man followed. Clint set his box down, and Natasha couldn’t help but stare a little at the way his arms flexed. She was appreciative that he was wearing short sleeves, even though it wasn’t exactly warm out.

She heard a throat clearing, and snapped her eyes away to find Tony smirking at her. Apparently her appreciation had not gone unnoticed. She glared at him and he said nothing.

“Natasha,” Clint said. “This is Thor.” He indicated the man she didn’t know. Ah, so this was his roommate. Former roommate, anyway.

“Hello, Natasha!” Thor greeted loudly, coming forward to shake her hand. He had a Scandinavian accent, a large grin, and long hair. He was tall and his arms were even bigger than Clint’s, though for some reason not nearly as enticing. 

“Hi, Thor,” Natasha said, shaking his hand. She was careful not to say ‘nice to meet you.’

“Clint has told me much about you,” Thor said. “I –“

“Alright!” Clint said, laughing nervously. “We’ve all met now, introductions over.”

Natasha choked back a laugh, grinning at Clint. He blushed, which was adorable. She wondered what he could have told Thor about her, considering he’d known her less than 24 hours.

“Should we get the rest of your stuff?” She asked.

“This is all of it.” He gestured grandly to the boxes at his feet. Natasha raised an eyebrow in question. They were big boxes, sure, but still… there were only five.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I had some more stuff, but it was mostly junk so I either donated it or threw it out.”

“He’s an impulse buyer,” Tony said. “You can’t take him anywhere. He’ll buy the weirdest shit that he has no need for, and then donate it or toss it when he cleans his place once a year.”

“This from the man who bought a $20,000 painting that he now keeps in his basement?”

“$20,000?” Thor asked, eyes wide.

“Extravagance is his middle name, isn’t it Stark?” Natasha teased. “I’m surprised you didn’t take the jet here.”

“He almost did,” Clint said. “I finally talked him down to the limo.”

“You took a _limo_ to help your friend move?” Natasha asked incredulously.

Tony rolled his eyes again, arms crossed. “Do you people forget who I am? I could have hired people to pack, move, and unpack for you,” he told Clint. “While we watched and sipped smoothies. But no, it was all ‘Tony, don’t be ridiculous, we can do this ourselves,’ ‘Tony, we don’t need smoothies in November,’ ‘Tony, we’re not taking a jet to go across town,’ blah, blah, blah.”

“Impressive rant,” Clint said drily.

Natasha’s phone beeped, and she went over to the couch to check it while the three men continued to bicker amicably.

_Steve: We miss you already._

Attached was a picture of him and Bucky leaning their heads together, pouting.

Natasha smiled and took a picture of Clint, Thor, and Tony, who were all laughing about something she hadn’t heard. She sent the picture to Steve and Bucky.

_Natasha: I’ve already replaced you._

_Steve: Damn, who’s Fabio over there?_

_Natasha: What do you care? You’ve got Bucky._

_Steve: Bucky wants to know too._

_Natasha: Thor, Clint’s friend._

_Steve: Where’d they meet, Biceps Anonymous?_

Natasha laughed, which drew the attention of the others.

“We had better leave you now,” Thor said. “My Jane shall be home soon.”

“Yeah, I’m already sick of this one.” Tony punched Clint’s shoulder, which he ignored. Natasha wondered if he even felt it.

And then they were gone, and it was just her and Clint standing awkwardly in the living room.

He broke the silence.

“So,” he said, walking over and sitting next to her on the couch. “Any rules or habits of yours I should know about? You know, roommate stuff?”

As he asked, it occurred to Natasha that this was probably a conversation they should have had before he actually moved in. “Well,” she said. “I entertain three French prostitutes in the living room every Tuesday.”

Clint chuckled. His eyes and his forehead crinkled when he smiled. “Standard fare, sure.”

“I _do_ use the living room on weekends and in the mornings to practice, but it’s only for an hour or so a day.”

“Practice? Oh, ballet, right? Pepper told me you teach it.”

“Yep.”

“How’d you get into ballet?”

“To make money in college,” she said. “I started with just giving lessons through the school, but I was good at it so I kept going after college.”

He nodded, apparently accepting her answer. Which he should, it was the truth. But it wasn’t exactly how she got into ballet, just teaching it. She didn’t especially feel like going into her life story with a near stranger.

She was about to ask him something in return when his phone rang. He sighed heavily when he looked at it.

“Sorry, it’s for work,” he said. He had a short conversation about cats then hung up. “I have to go pick up a litter of kittens. You know, we’re supposed to be closed on Sundays. But does that stop Animal Services from calling? Noooooo.”

She said nothing, as he seemed to pretty much be talking to himself. He left less than a minute later, leaving her alone again. 

\-------------

Natasha wasn’t worried about getting along with her new roommate. Despite the fact that she had few close friends, she could get along with just about anybody she had to. Plus, it didn’t appear that he had any habits that would really bother her. He didn’t play loud music or hog the common area. He left some of his stuff laying around, but after she threw him a glare or two he would pick it up. 

His eating habits, however, turned her stomach.

One day after work she was in the kitchen, making herself a sandwich. A normal sandwich. With bread and meat and cheese. Like a human.

Then Clint opened the fridge and pulled out a box of leftover pizza and a package of microwave-cook bacon. He juggled a couple of her apples while he waited for the bacon to heat up.

“What are you making?” She asked warily.

“A sandwich.”

She said nothing and waited.

Once the bacon was cooked, he pulled it out of the microwave and set all five slices in between two slices of cold pizza. Natasha watched, horrified, as he took a bite.

“That’s disgusting.”

He shrugged. “Pizza goes with everything.”

“It can’t be used as a substitute for bread.”

“Sure it can.” He pointed to the underside of one slice. “Look at the crust. Bread.”

“Oh my god.” She kind of wanted to slap it out of his hand, but supposed his eating habits weren’t really any of her business. She couldn’t cook either, but at least the stuff she did make was normal. She didn’t understand how he could stay in such great shape if he ate like that. He must exercise a lot. Especially upper body workouts.

Mentally shaking those thoughts out of her head, she went back to her food and tried not to look at Clint. Or his not-a-sandwich.

“Mmmm.” He smiled around a large bite. She cringed; there was grease smeared around his lips.

“I can actually _see_ your arteries clogging.”

He shrugged carelessly just as her phone buzzed.

_Sam: Here’s that picture! Sorry it took me so long to send it._

She smiled. It was the picture of her on Steve and Bucky’s shoulders that he’d taken on Halloween. She set it as her lock screen.

“Aaw, that’s a good picture,” Clint said. “Sorry, I couldn’t help but see it.”

“It’s okay. And thanks.”

“You guys been friends a long time?”

She nodded. “I only know Bucky because of Steve, so that’s been about eight months. But I’ve known Steve for six years, ever since sophomore year of college. We were in the same criminology class.”

Clint’s eyes lit up. “Criminology? That sounds awesome. Was that your major?”

“No, I just took it for fun. It was Steve’s major though. He’s a cop.”

It had always been Steve’s dream to be a police officer, even though he was told repeatedly that he had too many health problems and would never meet the physical requirements. Natasha spent a long time helping him get into shape. He was still skinny and short and allergic to most things, but he made it through the Academy and she had never been prouder of him.

Clint finished his “sandwich” and took another slice of pizza from the box. Thankfully he ate this one by itself. “That’s cool. By the way, where’s the nearest laundromat?”

“Downstairs.”

He actually gasped. “There’s a laundromat in the building?”

“Yeah. Sorry, did I not mention that?”

He pumped a fist and threw his half-eaten pizza slice back into the box. He went to his room without a word and come out a minute later with a bag of laundry. “I was running out of clean underwear.” Then he was out the door.

“Thanks for sharing,” she called after him. 

 

She was on the phone with Pepper when he came back twenty minutes later. If she was surprised by his quick return, she was even more surprised by the soap and water clinging to his hair and clothes and the dripping laundry bag at his feet.

“I think I broke the washing machine.” He hauled the bag over his shoulder and walked to his room without another word.

“What the…?”

“What?” Pepper asked. “What happened?”

“Clint just came in,” Natasha said slowly, gaping at his bedroom door. “Apparently he had a fight with the washing machine.”

“What?” Pepper snorted.

“It must have started overflowing,” Natasha said. “And then he swam in it, I guess.”

Clint must have heard her, because the door opened and he poked his head out. She could see his bare shoulders and realized with a jolt that he had taken his wet clothes off. It looked like there was a scar across one shoulder. “I tried to fix it!” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “It did start overflowing, and I tried to fix it myself. Judging by the way water started spraying everywhere, I’m guessing I just made it worse.” Natasha said nothing, speechless. He continued, “They had to kick everyone out to fix it. I don’t think I’ve made any fans in the building.”

“Did you catch that?” Natasha asked into the phone.

“Yeah.” Pepper sounded amused. “My god, he might be worse than Tony.”

Natasha relayed Pepper's opinion to Clint, who made a highly offended face. “I don’t have to take this.” He stuck his nose up in the air and retreated back to his room.

“How has he even survived this long?” Natasha asked quietly.

“I wonder the same thing about Tony sometimes.”

 

Despite his horrible eating and laundry practices, Natasha had little trouble with Clint’s habits. It was Clint himself, though, who was the real test of her self-control. 

Two days after he moved in, Natasha was in the living room doing her morning stretches when he stumbled out of his room shirtless, hair sticking out at odd angles. He grunted at her, raising his hand vaguely in her direction in what she supposed was a wave.

He was apparently capable of speech only after he turned on the coffee machine. Just the promise of caffeine in his future perked him up a little and he said, “good morning.”

She returned the greeting. He leaned against the counter, the only thing that vaguely separated the kitchen from the living room, and his arms flexed as he pressed against it.

Natasha almost fumbled in her movements for a moment, but steadied herself. Dammit, but she was attracted to him. And she couldn’t have him.

This was an unusual situation to her. She was used to going to any bar and picking up any guy she wanted for the night. But Clint was her roommate, and she’d never had a one night stand she had to see the next day.

Plus, there was something in the back of her mind that told her she couldn’t have “just sex” with Clint. 

“That a ballet move?” He asked. He shifted a little and she looked pointedly away from his flexing biceps. 

She was standing on one leg, the other stretched back and tipped up so her foot was touching her head. “No, I’m just stretching.”

“Oh. Right.” He rubbed his hand over his face as he yawned. He blinked slowly, turning around as if unsure where he was, then wandered back into his room. He came out two minutes later with a shirt on and chugged a mug of coffee much faster than Natasha thought was safe. 

“You in a hurry?”

“I have to leave for work in two minutes.”

“Oh, no, did your alarm not go off or something?”

He scrunched his eyebrows up, confused. “No. I woke up on time.”

“You give yourself what, ten minutes to get ready?”

“’S all I need,” he said with smile. “I wake up like this.”

His shirt was on backwards and he tripped a little when he walked out the door. Natasha held her laughter until his footsteps receded.

\------------

“What the hell is _that_?”

“It’s a painting,” Steve said defensively. They were on Skype, and Steve moved his head to the side so Natasha could more clearly see the strange painting on the wall behind his head. 

“Where did you find it?” She squinted, trying to discern a logical shape from the brush strokes. “A garbage dump in the Philippines?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “A flea market.”

“Of course. Why don’t you just hang up your own paintings, Steve? They’re way better than anything you buy.”

“That’s what I tell him,” Bucky said, stepping into frame wearing an apron and holding a bowl. “Here, try this,” he said to Steve, holding out a spoon. He fed Steve something that looked chocolate and Steve let out an almost obscene noise of pleasure.

“Oh my god, guys.” Natasha laughed. “Can you please keep your foreplay to yourselves?”

“Sorry. I just can’t turn it off.” Bucky smirked.

“You’d understand if you tasted that.” Steve made a grabbing motion for the bowl and Bucky held it out of reach.

Clint’s door opening distracted her and she looked up. He was holding a long bar in his hand. “Don’t mind me,” he said quietly, setting the bar high up in his doorway. He tested its strength before grabbing on with both hands and – _oh boy_ – doing pull-ups. She wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or disappointed that he kept his shirt on.

She hardly registered Bucky’s voice when he asked, “So, we still on for the bar on Friday?”

“Yeah, sure,” she said absently. Good lord, Clint was doing _one-armed_ pull-ups. Was she being punished?

“Nat? What are you staring at?” Steve’s curious voice finally brought her back.

“Nothing,” she hissed. She glanced up to see if Clint had heard him, but it didn’t seem like he had.

“Alright,” Steve said slowly, one eyebrow raised skeptically.

“Anyway,” Bucky said with a grin. “Steve has something to tell you.”

“What?” Natasha asked at the same time Steve groaned.

“Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Bucky said firmly.

“Did he do something dangerous again?”

“Yes –“ Bucky said, interrupted by Steve saying, “I did what I had to do and I’m _fine._ ”

“He chased three suspects into an alley _by himself._ ”

“And backup arrived in time so I don’t see what the big deal is.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“I assume you’ve already punished him?” Natasha asked, smirking. Bucky’s standard reaction to Steve doing something dangerous in the line of duty was just to glare at him silently until Steve fidgeted or left the room. Natasha sometimes joined in.

“What?” Clint was smirking at her, hanging off the bar. “Who’s punishing who? And is it dirty?”

Natasha snorted. “No, god. Please don’t give them ideas.”

“Is that Clint?” Bucky asked. He raised his voice. “Hey, Clint! It wasn’t dirty, but I can tell you about some other –“

“No!” Steve and Natasha yelled at the same time. Bucky and Clint laughed.

“Hey, Clint,” Steve said loudly. “How’s rooming with Nat?”

“Awful!” He threw her a wink.

“Shouldn’t you be asking _me_ how rooming with Clint is?” Natasha asked. “You’re supposed to be _my_ best friend.”

“I feel bad that I unleashed you on someone else,” Steve said fondly. There was a faint beeping noise coming from his end.

“That’s the oven,” Bucky said, then left the frame.

“What did he make?”

“Lasagna,” Steve said. She tried not to be jealous, thinking of the take-out she’d had for dinner. “And we’re finally catching up on _Veep_.” He grinned, voice raising in his excitement.

“Oh, what episode are you on?”

 “We just watched the one where Amy snaps and –“

“Gah!” Clint yelled suddenly, dropping from his bar. Natasha stood up, concerned that he’d hurt himself, but he just put his hands over his ears. “Spoilers! I just started the third season!”

She sat back down, rolling her eyes. Steve laughed. “Sorry, Clint!” He called. “I won’t say anything else about how Amy went crazy and held up that liquor store.”

Clint walked all the way over just so he could show Steve his middle finger. “Very funny.” Then he looked at Natasha. “He’s joking, right?”

“You’ll have to watch and find out.”

“Gah!” He retreated into his room, presumably to do just that.

“Drama queen,” Natasha muttered, a smile tugging on her lips.

“You’re one to talk,” Steve said. “Remember that time I spoiled _Game of Thrones_ for you? I thought you were going to kill me in my sleep.”

“I still might.”

\------------

She learned a lot about her roommate during those first few days. Besides his horrible eating habits and lack of laundry skills, he also never wore matching socks, rambled when he was nervous, and couldn’t seem to use a coaster to save his life.

And she soon learned that he apparently had as much trouble sleeping as she did.

Sometimes she just couldn’t fall asleep. Usually there was no special reason. Less often, it was because she had a nightmare. Steve was sure she was an insomniac, but Natasha thought her body just didn’t need much sleep. 

1:00 in the morning was where she drew the line; if she was still awake at that time, she’d give up trying to go to sleep.

One night not long after Clint moved in, she reached that line. Letting out a frustrated sigh, she threw the covers off and went to get a cup of tea. Her bedroom door opened right into the living room, so the moment she stepped out she could see Clint, sitting on the couch and watching TV in the dark.

The couch was facing away from her, but he turned around when she opened the door. 

“Shit,” he said, grimacing. “Did I wake you up? I’ll turn it down.”

He reached for the remote, but she said, “No, relax. I just couldn’t sleep.”

She went to make her tea then, but since the kitchen opened up right into the living room she could still see him. The only light came from the TV, but it was enough for her to see everything in the kitchen, and to see him. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. She wondered if it was impolite of her to stare. Probably. After all, he clearly hadn’t expected her to come out here or he might have worn a shirt. He must sleep shirtless.

She wondered if he had nightmares or if he just stayed up late. 

She finished making her tea and walked back out to the living room. She paused at her door, glancing at the TV screen.

“Are you watching cartoons?”

Clint shrugged. “Nothing else on. And I haven’t unpacked my DVDs yet.”

There was a comment on the tip of her tongue, something along the lines of ‘how on earth have you not unpacked yet, it’s been three days,’ but she decided against uttering it.

“Want to join?” He asked, gesturing toward the TV. “You can choose, if Bugs Bunny is beneath you.”

She couldn’t tell if he was offering sincerely or just to be polite. Either way, though, she didn’t think she wanted company. She did normally hang out in the living room when she couldn’t sleep, but she’d trade that for the solitude of her room.

“No, thanks,” she told him. “Goodnight.”

“Night.”

She went back into her room and shut her door quietly, thinking she’d just sip her tea, read a bit, then go back to bed. But as she sat on her bed, reading the same sentence over and over, she just couldn’t seem to concentrate. She could practically feel Clint through the wall. Just knowing he was out there was making her a strange kind of uneasy, but it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant feeling. Part of her wanted to go back out there and watch cartoons with him, but something about that felt too intimate. Maybe it was the time of night.

No matter the reason, she remained in her room all night, eventually falling into a restless sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points to anyone who caught the Brooklyn 99 reference. 
> 
> Next time: The gang goes to a bar, and Natasha learns how Clint has arms like that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the last chapter was sort of a filler/get-to-know-you chapter, I wanted to get this one to you a little early. :)

The rest of the first week passed without much incident. His morning routine did not affect hers. He left for work an hour before her. Then she would go to work and he’d usually be there when she got back, eating either Chinese take-out, pizza, or some kind of mystery concoction, the contents of which she could happily remain ignorant of for the rest of her life. She had no idea how he stayed so fit - not that she was looking, much, but she had seen him without a shirt on a number of times now, and she wasn’t blind.

Since she herself wasn’t much of a cook, usually making some kind of sandwich or salad for dinner, she elected not to say anything about his less than stellar dietary habits. But when she came home on Friday night to Clint sitting on the couch and spooning leftover Chinese food onto a leftover piece of pizza, with a package of soy sauce laying ominously on the coffee table, she drew the line.

“No. You are not eating that.”

He looked up, startled at her declaration. “Huh?”

Natasha knew it was probably rude, but she also knew that she didn’t much care at the moment. There were limits.

“Tonight, you are eating something normal,” she said, striding over to the couch and removing the pizza from his hand. He let her, possibly because he was stunned into stillness. “You don’t have to do anything. Just sit there and please let me throw this out, it’s been in the fridge all week.”

For a moment she didn’t know whether he was going to laugh or yell at her. He did neither, but he did smile, some kind of twinkle in his eye.

“Aaw, Nat, I didn’t know you cared.”

“I may actually be sick if I have to watch you eat fried rice on pizza.”

“I thought you didn’t cook,” Clint said a moment later as she dug out the cookware from the kitchen cabinets.

“I don’t, really,” she said. “But spaghetti is easy. It’s like the one meal I can actually cook without instructions.”

She set about boiling the water, and was just extracting the sauce jar from the cabinet when Clint made some noise that was halfway between a laugh and a snort.

“You watch _Dancing with the Stars_?”

“Are you snooping in my DVR?”

“I would never.” He put his hands up and gave her a mock-affronted look. “I just happened to see it on my innocent journey to find something to watch.”

Natasha smiled despite herself, and leaned over the kitchen counter to talk to him while she waited for the water to boil.

“I only watch it ironically,” she informed him primly. “To judge the dancers, because I could do so much better.”

“Sure, sure.” Clint nodded. “What, can you do _all_ kinds of dance?”

“I’ve done a few different styles,” she answered, shrugging. “Mostly in college. I minored in dance. I just focused on ballet.”

“Your school had a dance minor?”

“Yes, that’s why I chose it. What was your major in college?”

“Didn’t go to college.” His face closed off and he turned back to the TV. “So you wanna watch an episode? You’ve got four recorded, you probably want to get started.”

“Sure. Angle the TV a little so I can see it from here.”

They watched mostly in silence while she made dinner. Occasionally one of them would throw out a disdainful comment about the dancing or the outfits. 

She brought the spaghetti out in bowls, feeling oddly domestic. She wondered if this was how Steve felt when he cooked for her.

“Thanks.” Clint grinned at her and accepted his bowl.

She sat next to him. “How much you want to bet they score below 15?”

Clint was chewing, but once he swallowed he used his fork to pick up one long noodle. “A single noodle,” he said solemnly. “That is my wager.”

“I accept.”

A couple minutes later, she sighed and lifted a single noodle from her bowl to his. He raised his free hand in the air in triumph. “Victory is mine!”

“16. I was close. And they deserved less, they were terrible.”

“He lifted her at the end. That was pretty cool.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Please. That is so hackneyed.”

“Not enough to impress the connoisseur of dance?” He asked, wiggling the fingers of one hand in some strange spirit-fingers kind of way.

“What the hell is that?” She asked, suppressing a laugh.

“You, obviously.”

“This,” Natasha said, wiggling her fingers like he had. “Is me?” She let out a tiny laugh, but tried desperately to maintain her solemn expression.

Clint was clearly having as much trouble being serious as she was, his face turning a little red and his mouth threatening to burst into a grin any second. “It’s you being all dance-experty.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “How did I not see it?”

“You were too caught up in your –“ and he wiggled his fingers again.

Her burst of laughter surprised her and shocked chuckles from Clint as well. She shoved his shoulder playfully. He did it back.

She had seen him smile, grin, and laugh several times over the almost week they’d been living together. But she had never seen him quite as amused as he was – as they _both_ were – at this moment. It was a good look on him. His face flushed a little, grin wide, eyes crinkled. And he was looking at her with something… _something_ in his eyes. Like affection, maybe. Friendly affection.

Afraid that the same affection might be showing in her eyes, she turned back to the TV only to see that it was on commercial.

_“Have your mark, but haven’t met your mate?”_ The man on the screen was saying. _“Then join MarkMatch.com today! We use detailed algorithms to –“_

Natasha scoffed, preparing to say something snarky to Clint about the absurdity of matching websites, when she remembered that he had his mark already. She forgot, sometimes.

Suddenly remembering that she could fast forward, she quickly grabbed the remote and did so, refusing to meet Clint’s eyes.

He said nothing while she fast-forwarded, and she was afraid to look at him. She felt tense suddenly, and then there was a knock on the door.

“I’ll get it,” she said and practically dove off the couch. A glimpse through the peephole and she opened the door.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Steve rolled his eyes, and he and Bucky moved past her into the apartment.

“Missed you too, Nat,” Steve said.

“Hey, Clint!” Bucky greeted, heading over to the couch and picking up her bowl of spaghetti. “You cook?” He asked Clint.

Clint and Natasha snorted at the same time.

“I made it,” Natasha said, snatching her bowl back. “What are you two doing here?”

“I told you she’d forget.” Bucky smirked.

“The bar?” Steve reminded her.

“Oh, shit. That’s tonight?”

“I reminded her two days ago,” Bucky muttered to Clint. 

“Forgetful, Nat?” Clint’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “I figured you for the type who had everything penciled into a day planner or something.”

“You are normally very organized,” Steve said.

“I had a busy week, sue me,” Natasha grumbled. She did have a planner, but that was only to keep her work appointments in. She never had to keep track of when she was going out with Steve and Bucky before because they had always been there to remind her. “Sam coming?”

“No,” Steve said. “He had other plans.”

“Apparently he didn’t get the memo that we’re supposed to be his only friends.” Bucky shrugged.

Clint leaned close to her. She could feel his breath on her ear as he stage-whispered, “Should I not tell them about Pepper?”

She slapped a hand over his mouth and put her finger to her lips. “Shh!” And she honest to god _giggled._

But only for a second. When she realized what she’d done she yanked her hand back as though it had been burned. Clint was chuckling, but she didn’t have to look at Steve and Bucky to know they would be giving her the raised-eyebrow look. She was not normally this familiar with anyone besides close friends.

“I’m gonna go get changed,” she said before they could say anything. She forced herself to walk to her room at a normal speed and shut the door.

It wasn’t the largest apartment, so she could still hear the three of them through the door. She heard Bucky invite Clint out with them and Steve second it.

“Hey Nat!” Bucky called. “You okay if Clint comes with us?”

“Of course!” She shouted back.

She heard Clint ask if what he was wearing was okay. Steve reassured him that it was a casual bar. Natasha came out of her room in jeans, a tank top and her favorite red leather jacket.

She thought she saw Clint’s eyes do a sweep of her. It was only fair if he did, really. She did it to him often enough.

\-----------------

The bar was full but not crowded, so they managed to get a small booth. Steve and Bucky quickly slid into one side, leaving Clint and Natasha squeezed together on the other. She tried not to be aware of his arm pressing against hers. 

“Who’s getting us drinks?” She asked. Alcohol would distract her.

“I’ll get ‘em,” Steve offered, already sliding out of the booth. “Beers, right?”

“You have to get the house brew, it’s amazing,” Bucky told Clint, who nodded in acquiescence.

Steve came back a few minutes later, laden with four large glasses that he set down in front of them.

“Hey, yours has more foam than mine!” Clint said to her indignantly, then reached over to run his finger through it.

“Gross!” Natasha yelled. “What the hell? Give me yours.”

“No! Mine!” Clint laughed, holding his glass out of her reach over the table. She grabbed for it, but he held it further, causing it to slosh around and lose any foam it had.

“Ha! Your foam is gone!” She pointed out triumphantly.

“Aaw, beer,” Clint chided the glass. “Nat, give me more of yours!”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Natasha laughed, sliding hers away. She didn’t have height on her side like Clint did, but she pressed her glass up against the wall of the booth and guarded it with her upper body. Clint kept sliding his hand on the table, trying to find an open spot. They were both laughing, and Natasha was so caught up in their little game that it took her a few moments to realize they had an audience.

Steve and Bucky were watching them with rapt attention, Steve with wide eyes and a shocked look on his face and Bucky with a questioning smile. Natasha cleared her throat, released her beer. Clint sat up straight beside her.  

Steve stared at her for a second, then asked, “Are you two already drunk?”

“Oh, Clint is almost always drunk,” Natasha joked. Clint nodded solemnly.

They finished their first round quickly, Bucky entertaining them all by pointing out all the spots in the bar he and Steve had made out. Steve got progressively redder, but never contradicted him. Clint refused to believe they had actually made out _on_ the bar. Bucky said they would be willing to go prove it to him.

Fearful of getting kicked out before they had more than one drink, Natasha said, “Oh look, we’re all out of beer.”

“I’ll get the next one,” Clint said, standing up. “So I can make sure they all have the proper amount of foam this time.”

The second he was gone, Steve and Bucky pounced.

“What was _that?”_

“I believe it was Clint going to get a second round,” Natasha answered innocently.

“You know what we mean,” Steve said.

“That thing, with the foam and the _obvious_ flirting –“

“I was not flirting –“

“Oh, please.” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“You would have punched anyone else in the throat if they tried to touch your drink,” Steve said. “Besides maybe us or Pepper.”

“I’m not nearly as violent as you two seem to think I am,” Natasha said, trying to be casual. But she was deflecting and she knew it. Why hadn’t she reacted worse to Clint touching her drink?

But Clint was coming back, so she tried to put it out of her mind. She was relatively comfortable with her new roommate, so what? She vowed to try not to over-analyze it.

“Thanks,” Steve said as Clint slid their beers across to them. Natasha grabbed hers and immediately sucked the foam off, staring at Clint defiantly.

He laughed as he sat back down and nudged her shoulder. She would have nudged back, but noticed Steve and Bucky exchange a knowing glance.

Maybe Clint noticed too, because he cleared his throat and asked, “So, uh, what do your marks say?”

Thankfully, the distraction worked. Soulmates loved telling people about their marks.

“Hang on,” Bucky said, turning in the booth to lean against Steve and try to bring his leg up. He struggled with it for a moment, ignoring Natasha when she pointed out that he could just _tell_ Clint what it said, until he finally got his leg up in the air and pulled his pants leg up. Clint leaned in to read the words; ‘ _You’re under arrest’._

“No way, man.” He looked at Steve incredulously. “You arrested your soulmate?”

“He was breaking the law!”

“Barely.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “Drunk and disorderly.”

“You started a bar fight –“

“He deserved it –“

“Nevertheless,” Steve interrupted, turning back to Clint. “His response was not at all appropriate.” He rolled his shirt sleeve up and turned so Clint could see the writing on his shoulder. It was only one word: ‘ _Kinky’._

Natasha was really enjoying Clint’s reaction. He laughed and slapped his palms against the table so hard their beer glasses rattled. Then he reached over the table to high five Bucky.

“A cute little cop was coming at me with handcuffs,” Bucky said, smiling at Steve. “It was where my mind went.”

“And still goes, apparently,” Natasha muttered, but loudly enough for everyone to hear.

“Natasha –“ Steve said warningly.

“Natasha,” Clint said, grinning at her to egg her on.

“They seem to have re-enacted their first meeting, in a way, at least once,” Natasha said, talking to Clint but with the occasional teasing glance at Steve and Bucky. “A couple months ago, I woke up to them calling my name at 1:00 in the morning because this one,” she hooked her thumb at Bucky. “Accidentally handcuffed _both_ of them to the headboard.”

“What?” Clint laughed. “How does that even happen?”

“He was distracting me,” Bucky said. Natasha was unsurprised to see Steve blushing again.

“That, combined with the kitchen incident, and I have seen way more of them than I ever needed to.” Natasha added a theatrical shudder for effect.

“You wanna start with that, Romanoff? I have some college stories that might be relevant,” Steve taunted. “And earlier. I know everything about you.”

“Rogers,” Natasha growled. “You better only tell a good story.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, eyes lighting up. “What about when you got kicked out of a foster home for punching that dude?”

She tensed. Steve elbowed Bucky in the side, but it was too late.

Natasha did not generally tell people about her childhood, and now Clint, who’d known her for less than a week, knew that she’d been a foster kid. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him or thought he would use the knowledge against her somehow. It was just that she viewed her childhood as private.

Bucky appeared immediately contrite and looked about to apologize. But to her surprise, Clint spoke first. 

“I was in the system too,” he revealed. His tone was casual, but Natasha saw something else in his eyes.

“Really?” She asked quietly.

“Yeah, when I was a teenager… mostly group homes.”

A thousand questions raced through her mind, mostly variations of: _Why did you tell us that? Was it just because you saw how tense I was? You didn’t have to…_

But she didn’t know how to voice those questions, or if she should. There was still a tension hanging around the table, no one really knowing what to say in response. She couldn’t look away from Clint’s eyes. They were so blue, with those flecks of green and even some gray. And kind. She had never really thought of someone’s eyes as being kind before, but his were.

What were they talking about, again?

Clint looked away, then, and said, “That was after the circus, though.”

“The circus?” Steve asked incredulously.

Clint nodded, smiling for real as he looked at their curious faces. “Ran away to the traveling circus when I was 12.”

“You ran away to the circus?” Natasha asked skeptically. “I didn’t even know traveling circuses still existed.”

“Well, there’s at least one and it came through Iowa,” Clint said. “I did archery.”

“Archery?” Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Like a bow and arrow?”

“Yep. The Amazing Hawkeye,” he declared, in an announcer-type voice. “Never misses a shot!”

That certainly explained the arms.

“Never misses a shot, huh?” Natasha grinned. “I don’t believe it.” Even considering his beer pong prowess.

“Is that a challenge?”

“There’s a dart board over there,” she said, pointing to opposite wall. “Let’s see you in action, Hawkeye.”

“You got it.” Clint winked at her and slid out of the booth. Steve shot her an amused smile when Clint wasn’t looking and mouthed, _‘flirting.’_ She ignored him.

Steve and Bucky got up too, but decided they were more interested in getting another drink than seeing Clint devastate a dart board.

“What they mean is they’re more interested in finding a dark corner to make out in,” Natasha told Clint as they made their way over to the dart board.

She went to gather up the darts as Clint cleared space so he could stand as far away from the board as possible. He was standing with his arms crossed when she walked back to him, smiling at her confidently. It was kind of a turn on, she had to admit.

His smile grew when she handed him the darts. “Now don’t throw yourself at me once you see this, alright? It’s pretty impressive.”

“I’ll try to contain myself.”

It _was_ impressive, though. He threw all nine darts in quick succession and they all bunched together in the bullseye. The next round, he threw them all into a ‘C’ formation. On the next, an ‘N’. Natasha injected as much nonchalance into her tone as she could when she said, “What a show-off.”

“It was _your_ challenge.”

“Clearly these darts are just easy.”

“Oh, _you_ wanna try it, Romanoff?”

“Maybe I do, Barton.”

“Be my guest.”

He held the darts out to her and she grabbed them. She moved to take his place in front of the dart board and he said, “You wanna move a little closer to the board?” She gave him her best withering glare in response and he held up his hands in surrender.

She was good, but he was better. Her first three darts landed just outside the center, and she tried not to scowl. She refused to look at Clint, but she could practically feel his grin.

“Don’t be smug,” she chided.

“Never.” Oh, his tone was definitely smug. “But look, I can help. Act like you’re gonna throw.”

She glanced at him warily but obeyed and put her arm into position.

“Okay, bring your arm a little further forward, it’s too far back.”

She did, but Clint said, “Not quite… here, let me –“

She felt him step up behind her, then his hand on her elbow. His voice was low and right next to her ear. Natasha was pretty sure she had seen something like this in a rom-com once. “Just like this, level it out…” He moved her arm for her until he had it in the perfect position. “Okay, now try to keep it at that height and throw.”

She did, and was pleased to see that this one landed in the center. Not as perfectly centered as Clint’s shots had been, though.

He was still standing close behind her. She could feel his presence just at her back. She idly wondered if he had ever done this with other women and if it worked, because it was sure having an effect on her.

If he were another man, someone besides her roommate who she had to see every day after this, she would have turned around. And he was standing so close that if she had, every inch of her body would be pressed up against his. And she was wearing heels, so he wouldn’t be too much taller than her, making it easy for her to tilt her head up and give him those sultry eyes that worked on every man she’d ever used them on. And maybe he’d be feeling the same kind of thing as her at that moment, and he would lean down and brush his lips lightly against hers. Then she would drop the remaining darts on the floor without a care at the same time that she reached up with one hand to grab the back of his head and pull him all the way down and–

Yeah, she _definitely_ couldn’t do that. Clint took a step back, allowing her mind to clear a little. 

“You’ll get there, young Padawan.”

“I am _not_ a Padawan,” Natasha protested, slapping the rest of the darts in Clint’s hand. “I am the Jedi master.”

“The darts don’t lie, Padawan,” Clint said, throwing the rest of the darts in a perfectly straight line down the center of the board.

“So, why archery?” She asked after he had gone back to get the darts again. “Why not like, elephant taming or something?”

“Taming elephants isn’t all that entertaining,” Clint said wryly. “To do or to watch.” He paused, throwing the darts again. “I’ve always had good aim and at the circus there was someone to teach me.”

Natasha leaned against the wall behind him, determinedly not watching his arms as he continued to throw.

“How come you were in the circus?”

“Me and my brother ran away from home. The circus was just… there.”

“You have a brother?”

He tensed a little, pausing in his dart throwing. But when he threw the next one it was still a perfect shot. “Yeah. Barney. Haven’t seen him in ten years.”

She’d apparently struck a nerve. They were silent for a moment. Then Natasha said, “Bet you can’t hit the bullseye backwards.” 

“Oh, yeah?” There was a twinkle back in his eye. “How much?”

Natasha searched the pockets of her jacket and pulled out a bobby pin. “A single bobby pin. That is my wager.”

He grinned, a face crinkling grin. “You’re on.”

\----------------

They stayed at the bar for a couple more hours, eventually finding Steve and Bucky again (both of their hair mussed and shirts a little ruffled, as Natasha predicted). When Bucky told Clint about Natasha’s insane ability to hold her liquor, Clint ordered a round of shots. The end result was that Bucky and Clint got tipsy, Natasha felt a slight buzz, and Steve was falling over himself. Bucky called it quits at that point, and they all coaxed Steve out of the bar.

It was late by the time Natasha and Clint got home, and she went right to her room with barely a “night,” in Clint’s direction. He grunted inarticulately back. She hardly managed to change into her pajamas before she collapsed into bed and fell asleep quickly.

If she hadn’t been so tired, she probably would have predicted the nightmare. She’d been reminded of stuff that night. Bucky had pulled her aside to apologize in the bar, explaining that he was so used to talking about anything freely in front of Steve that it hadn’t occurred to him to censor himself. But still, the memories had been dredged up and she woke with a gasp, instantly relieved that she was not actually doing pliés in a small room while other foster kids threw rocks at her.

She was just tired enough that she considered trying to go back to sleep, but her mind went to Clint. He’d been reminded of his past today, too. Maybe he was in the same boat. 

Sure enough, he was spread out on the couch when she entered the living room, legs resting on the coffee table in front of him. He lifted his hand in a vague wave.

She made her tea as usual, but pulled two cups down from the cupboard.

“Wha – oh, thanks, Nat,” he said with a small smile when she brought him the tea. He took a sip and nearly choked. “Oh my god, what _is_ that?” He coughed, setting the cup down.

Natasha smirked. “Russian tea might be a little strong for you.”

“Russian?”

“That’s where I’m from.”

He peered into the cup, as though he could will the strength out of the tea. “And in Russia you use tea as a torture device?”

“Exactly. Drink it quickly, I plan to interrogate you later.”

“You wanna stay and watch TV while you wait?” He gestured to the screen, where some sort of food show was playing.

“Nah.” She shook her head, even though she was a little tempted. “I’m gonna take my Russian torture device and go back to bed.”

“Alright.” He shrugged. “G’night.”

As she closed to the door to her room, she realized she was smiling. She sat in bed and fell back asleep before she even finished her tea.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Clint and Natasha have a conversation about soulmates, and Pepper has some news.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing pretty good with my editing, so I should hopefully be able to get out two updates a week now!
> 
> Also, I've decided to say thank you to reviews in the notes instead of in the comment section. So thank you to bigbobsbeepers, stefaniegk, Karolina94, Amie, jugglingeese, and RandomFangirl for reviewing the last chapter! I appreciate every review. :)

Usually her best students, Wanda and Pietro seemed oddly distracted during their lesson the following Monday. They completed the routine she showed them with their usual precision but none of their usual energy.

“Everything alright with you guys?” She finally asked as they were going through their cool down stretches.

The twins exchanged glances, communicating silently; a raised eyebrow, a slight shrug, a nod. Then Wanda said, “Our parents are splitting.”

Well, that was a surprise. Not because she thought highly of their parents’ relationship – in fact, the one time she’d met them she didn’t like them much at all, as they didn’t seem very interested in their children – but because divorce was so rare. People said soulmarks were never wrong, but sometimes she wondered if maybe they could be. She’d been wondering that more often lately.

She’d been silent for too long now, and she tried to think of something to say to comfort the teenagers in front of her. “Sorry,” she said unoriginally.

They shrugged simultaneously. “Not like it’ll make much of a difference,” Pietro said disdainfully.

“We’ll probably get the same amount of love and attention as we do now.”

They went through the rest of the cool down, Natasha wracking her brain to think of ways to cheer them up. If she were trying to cheer up Steve, she would put on a sappy movie and let him braid her hair. If it was Bucky, she’d take him out to a bar and ply him with alcohol and braid _his_ hair. For Pepper she’d take her out for sushi, and possibly also alcohol. She wasn’t sure what she would do for Clint. Put on _Star Wars,_ maybe.

Wanda and Pietro were significantly underage, so that was a no on the booze. Pietro’s hair was too short to braid. She’d heard that kids liked ice cream, but it was a bit cold out for that. So she just assigned them a little less homework than she normally did.

She wasn’t sure if they realized, but they put on smiles and waved as usual when they left.

She went over to her bag to check her phone while she waited for her last appointment. She had a couple of texts from Steve and Bucky in a group message. The first was a picture of a truly hideous vase.

 _Steve_ : _Tell Bucky this vase is awesome._

_Bucky: Tell Steve this vase looks like a pair of tits._

_Steve: Just because there’s a vague shape of circles does not equal breasts – breasts, Bucky, try to be respectful._

_Bucky: Tits tits tits tits._

_Natasha: Steve doesn’t like that kind of talk. And it definitely looks like tits. Please don’t put that in your living room._

There was a response in seconds.

_Bucky: Fuckin told you, punk._

_Steve: Traitor._

Natasha flipped back to her messages screen, seeing that she also had a series of texts from Clint.

_Clint: We’re out of milk._

_Clint: I was trying to make something… you know what, you don’t want to know. I’ll get more tomorrow._

_Clint: Do you think Lucky Charms would be good on a sandwich?_

_Clint: Do you like grilled cheese?_

Natasha really hoped those last two were unrelated.

_Natasha: No to the Lucky Charms, yes to grilled cheese. Try not to burn the apartment down._

It took him a couple of minutes to respond. She was already reviewing her lesson plan for her upcoming appointment, but she checked her phone anyway.

_Clint: That was one time. Who told you about that? Tony? I bet it was Tony._

_Natasha: No one. I was kidding._

_Clint: Uh … so was I._

She was surrounded by idiots. Kind of adorable idiots.

Before she could think of any way to respond, her next student walked in the door. She just really hoped that apartment burning incident was a long time ago.

 

She came home an hour later to Clint making grilled cheese in the mercifully flameless kitchen. He had a stack of five on a plate next to him and he was making another.

“Are you expecting company?”

He threw her a grin. “No, these are just for us.”

She set her bag down by the door and pulled up a chair at the counter so she could watch him cook. Just to make sure no cereal made its way to the frying pan.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I left the Lucky Charms out of them. Just for you, Nat.” He winked, and something warmed a little inside her. Must be the heat from the stove.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you turn on the stove,” she commented.

“It’s not my natural habitat,” he agreed. “But you made spaghetti for me last week. I am returning the favor with the only thing besides toast and pizza-based sandwiches I can make.”

“Well, I’m honored.”

He removed the last grilled cheese from the pan and put it on the plate, sliding it towards her. Then he tried to climb over the counter.  

She shot him a glare, and he slowly brought his foot back down, walking around the counter with a pout.

“Thor always let me climb over the counter.”

“Thor apparently also let you burn the apartment down.”

“You’re never gonna let that go now, are you? It was just the kitchen, and we put it out in like two seconds.”

She took a bite of grilled cheese because she really didn’t know how to respond to that.

They lapsed into silence as they ate, and Natasha’s mind wondered back to her students. She really did wish she could have done something better to comfort them. She’d been teaching them for almost a year and she was fond of them.

Clint must have noticed her distraction, because after he polished off his first grilled cheese he broke the silence. “What’s wrong? You seem far away.”

She finished her bite before answering. “I’ve got these two students, 14 years old. Their parents are splitting up.”

He blinked. “Oh. That’s… weird.”

“I had no idea what to tell them. It’s not like this happens a lot. What could I say? Hey, your parents are destined to be together but they’re splitting up anyway. They must _really_ hate each other.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t open with that.” He paused. “You could tell them that just because people are soulmates doesn’t necessarily mean it’s gonna be happily ever after. Maybe bring _Star Wars_ in as an example.”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

He rolled his eyes. “Hello? Look at Padme and Anakin. They were soulmates, but they were doomed. They were even married, but still doomed.”

He happily munched his second grilled cheese, apparently feeling that he’d made his point. Natasha stared at him for a moment. “Okay, number one, I’m not sure how that would possibly cheer them up. And two, never talk about the prequels in front of me again.”

“A purist. I can respect that.” A beat, and then, “I never really understood why people find marriage necessary, anyway. I mean, you already know you’re soulmates. Isn’t marriage a little overkill?”

“Steve says it’s about professing your love in front of all the people you care about. That you’ll honor the call of the universe and your souls or… I don’t know. That’s the point of Steve’s lecture where I usually drift off.”

Clint made a sympathetic noise. “I get lectures, too. Mostly about history though.”

“Really?” Natasha tried to imagine Thor or Tony ranting on and on about the history of soulmarks like Steve did and couldn’t picture it.

As if reading her mind, Clint chuckled and said, “From Phil.” At her questioning look, “Oh, he’s the guy that used to run the shelter. He hired me in the first place, retired two years ago. Whenever I would say something not great about soulmates he would punish me by telling me about the history of them.”

“You badmouthed soulmates?” Natasha fake gasped.

He nodded. “That weird?”

“No, not weird. I don’t like the whole soulmarks system much either.”

“It’s not that I dislike them, I just…” he trailed off, staring at his now empty plate. “My parents were a pretty sucky example and then my brother… But I was still relatively optimistic about it up ‘til recently. Then I got my marks and…” he shrugged, giving her a strange kind of look when he said, “I’m not sure I really believe in these things anymore.”

“Don’t believe in them?” It wasn’t like soulmarks were ghosts or vampires or something.

Clint shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t know… you know, I actually got the writing analyzed when I first got them?”

Natasha recognized the slight change of subject, but let it go because, “Of _course_ you did.”

There were a lot of theories about what the writing style of a person’s soulmark meant. Natasha tended towards believing that it was a combination of the two peoples’ handwritings, even though it was hard to prove because a person’s handwriting changed over the course of their life. It was the most commonly accepted theory, though, with dozens of papers written that studied thousands of soulmarks.

But there were those who believed the writing was reflective of the relationship between the two souls, and that the writing could be analyzed to predict it.

“I don’t believe in that stuff,” Clint said, smirking. “It was mostly just for fun. We were at a fair, there was a booth. Tony dared me.”

“So?” Natasha gestured towards his abdomen. “What did you find out?”

He lifted up his shirt, and she definitely wasn’t staring because she _had_ to look at his abdomen while he explained. “Uh, well the writing is kinda rounded, so that means passion. So that’s good. And something about the spacing means friendship. The thickness of the writing means like support or something like that. There was something about the loop of the ‘y’ but I don’t remember…” he trailed off then dropped his shirt back down.

“How much did you pay for that analysis?” Natasha scoffed, getting up to clear the dishes.

“Not much.” Clint shrugged. “Just ten bucks." A pause. "And my dignity.”

“There it is.”

Her phone had buzzed several times while they ate, and she finally checked it.

_Steve: Do you think we need a new couch? Bucky’s is so old and worn out, don’t you think?_

_Bucky: Hey! Leading question! You said you were going to ask impartially._

_Bucky: Nat, Steve lied to me. Tell him he doesn’t deserve a new couch._

_Steve: Tattle-tale._

_Natasha: You’re both idiots._

\---------------

Natasha had a very set morning routine. She woke up, drank a cup of tea, read the news on her phone, and worked out in the living room. If it was a work day, she did little more than stretch, but on weekends she stretched, practiced, and did strength training.

Clint didn’t wake much later than her on weekdays. But on days he didn’t have to work, he tended not to emerge from his room until 10:00 or 11:00.

So the following Sunday, Natasha was not surprised when Clint stumbled into the living room at the tail end of her workout. He often forgot to put a shirt on when he woke up. If she was in the common area when he came out, he would either turn back around to put a shirt on or continue, bleary-eyed, into the kitchen until he got at least one cup of coffee in him.

Today it was the latter. He barely glanced at her, grunting wordlessly (his morning version of “hello”) before heading into the kitchen to turn his coffee machine on. It was only when he had it on and came back into the living room that he seemed to notice she was upside down.

“Yoga, Nat?”

“Have to be flexible to do ballet,” she said. Plus, she found headstands kind of fun.

“And circus tricks.”

Before she could respond, Clint bent down and suddenly he was upside down on his hands too.

“What are you doing, Barton?”

“Is this not a group activity?”

It was a strange and oddly intimate experience, looking into his eyes while they were both upside down. Both because of that and because she was starting to feel light-headed, she brought her legs down and stood up slowly. 

Clint didn’t, though. He stayed upside down and started walking in circles around her on his hands. Knowing he couldn’t see her face, she allowed her eyebrows to raise in surprise.

“Show-off.”

“I prefer the term performer.”

“You’re not in the circus anymore, you know.”

He finally righted himself and stood back on his feet. “I’m just a natural born performer,” he said with a smug grin. “The grace and elegance come naturally to me.” Then he turned around and promptly banged his leg into the coffee table. He grasped his shin, letting out a string of curses.

Natasha laughed. Loudly and insensitively. 

“Sure. Laugh at me in my time of pain.”

“Don’t be such a baby, it’s barely bleeding.” She gestured to the tiny trickle of blood flowing from the cut on his shin.

“Bleeding? This calls for a Band-Aid!” For some reason, he seemed very happy about that. She found out why less than a minute later, when he rushed out of his room to show her the newly bandaged wound. The Band-Aid had a lightsaber on it.

“ _Star Wars_ Band-Aids?”

“Don’t be jealous. I brought you one too.” He held up another Band-Aid. This one had Darth Vader on it. 

“I’m not hurt anywhere.”

“That is a dilemma.” He put his hand on his chin as though he was seriously contemplating how to solve this. Natasha stood silently and let him, not sure why she was indulging this bout of silliness.

Clint appeared to have solved the puzzle, and he reached over and lightly flicked her arm.

“I could kick your ass, you know.”

“I’m just helping you,” Clint said, appearing not to fear for his bodily safety. “Now you are injured, right?”

“Grievously.”

“So.” He peeled the back off the Band-Aid and gestured for her to raise her arm. Rolling her eyes, she held out her afflicted arm and allowed him to place the Band-Aid on the skin he had barely touched with his finger. “Ta-da.”

“Not gonna kiss it and make it all better?”

Natasha regretted her words instantly. She had no idea what made her say them. Bucky and Steve would laugh their asses off if they found out.

Clint’s eyebrows flew up his forehead for an instant. She was about to yank her arm back and laugh it off, when Clint winked at her, bent down and pressed a quick kiss to the bandaged area, maintaining eye contact all the while.

Natasha felt her breath catch. She could feel the edges of his lips on the skin around the Band-Aid. Clint was smiling when he came up and released her arm.

“Well, now I’m truly healed,” she said, hoping he didn't notice the catch in her voice. “And just in time, because I have to get ready to meet Pepper.”

That made Clint grin and asked, “She got something to tell you?” Which all but confirmed Natasha’s suspicion.

“What, that they’re engaged?”

For the second time in under a minute, Clint look shocked. “You knew?”

“No.” Natasha grinned like the proverbial cat with the canary. “You just told me.”

“Shit!” Clint looked contrite. “Fuck. Please don’t tell Pepper you know. Tony made me swear not tell you, she wanted to tell you herself.”

“Relax.” Natasha waved him off. “I already suspected. She calls me, sounding all excited, and tells me to meet her at Tiffany’s tomorrow. I can connect dots.” He still looked anxious. “I will act surprised.”

She did. Pepper barely waited three seconds after she walked into the store to tell her. Her grin was so huge that it made Natasha’s cheeks hurt just looking at her.

Natasha congratulated her genuinely, made the appropriate noises when Pepper showed her the gorgeous ring, and acted as though this was brand new information. 

She looked so happy that Natasha, normally not one for emotional displays, gave her a hug. She may not have been a big believer in the ‘soulmates equals happily ever after' train of thought, but Pepper and Tony were great together. She had almost as much faith in them as she did in Steve and Bucky, and that was saying something. 

“We here to catalogue?” Natasha asked, glancing around the pricey store.

“Please, no,” Pepper said, as though this was the most ridiculous thing Natasha could have suggested. “It’s way too early for that. I’m just trying to decide where we should register.”

“Lead the way,” Natasha said, and followed Pepper deeper into the store.

Her friend was wrapped up in looking at fancy stuff, so Natasha pulled her phone out to tell Steve and Bucky the news.

_Natasha: Tony and Pepper are engaged._

_Bucky: About time._

_Steve: Aaw, that’s great. Though I honestly don’t know how she can stand him sometimes._

_Natasha: The power of love, Steve. Soulmates and the universe and devotion and all that, remember?_

_Steve: Oh,_ now _you appreciate my lectures?_

_Natasha: Absolutely not._

Natasha and Pepper went through three stores by the time Pepper was ready to take a break. They had just sat down to lunch when she asked, “So, how’s the new roommate thing going?”

 _Surprisingly well, actually._ “Fine,” Natasha answered casually. 

“Just fine? Come on, I recommended him. I want to know how Clint actually turned out.”

Natasha shrugged. “He’s kind of messy and he eats weird things. But you know… he grows on you with his rambling about _Star Wars_ and arrows and animals.”

“And those biceps, huh? Impressive.” Pepper waggled her eyebrows suggestively. Natasha valiantly fought off a blush, not wanting Pepper to know how wholeheartedly she agreed with her.

From the way Pepper giggled, Natasha must have failed. Thankfully her phone went off a minute later, giving her a distraction.

_Clint: Did you act surprised?_

_Natasha: Yes, relax. She didn’t suspect a thing._

_Clint: Thank god. I was afraid I was going to have to flee the state. Tony says Pepper’s wrath is terrifying._

_Natasha: How far would you have to go to escape her?_

_Clint: Idaho, probably._

“That Clint?” Pepper asked.

“Yeah. He’s joking about moving to Idaho.”

“What? Why would he move to Idaho?”

“He likes potatoes? I don’t know.”

Pepper shook her head and let it drop.

_Natasha: Well, you’re probably safe to stay in the city for now. I’ll let you know if she starts to suspect anything and you have to go into Witness Protection._

_Clint: You’re a good friend._

_Natasha: Say thank you with gifts._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Late night bonding, a Thanksgiving celebration, and some property damage.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to ARussian, bigbobsbeepers, harlie, stefaniegk, Karolina94, CloudAtlas, and im_your_dead_sea for reviewing the last chapter!

One night in the week before Thanksgiving, Natasha found herself unable to sleep. Once it hit one in the morning she put on her slippers and padded out into the living room.

Clint was there, sitting in his usual spot in front of the television. The last time Natasha had gone on her late night tea run, he hadn’t been there and she’d been surprised to find herself disappointed. And now a little ashamed of herself for being strangely happy to find him there this time, as it likely meant he was unable to sleep.

He didn’t look up or greet her as she walked into the kitchen, eyes focused on the TV.

“You want some tea?” She asked. “I promise to make it weaker this time for your tiny American taste buds.”

No response. He just continued to stare at the TV. It was only then that she noticed the sound wasn’t even on.

“Clint?” Still nothing. Was he mad at her? “Clint?” Louder this time. She moved to the side a little so she could wave her hand in his line of sight and he finally noticed her.

“Huh?” He squinted at her, then rubbed his ear. He turned to the coffee table, looking for something. She repeated her tea question, but he ignored her again.

Or so she thought. It was then that he found what he was looking for – two small, cylindrical devices that he inserted into his ears. After fiddling with them for a moment, he shot Natasha a sheepish smile.

“Sorry about that. I’m mostly deaf,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck in what Natasha now recognized as a nervous gesture.

“Oh. You don’t have to apologize. Tea?”

He shrugged. “Sure. Thanks.”

She brought over the tea when she was done. He grimaced adorably as he drank it, but thanked her for making it weaker this time. 

Natasha stood there for a brief moment, before surprising herself by sitting down on the couch next to him. Maybe she could do with some company tonight.

Clint was watching the TV again, and Natasha saw that it was _Empire Strikes Back_.

“Why were you watching the TV without your hearing aids in?” She asked.

“Psh.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “It’s _Star Wars_. I’ve got this memorized. And sometimes the aids get uncomfortable if I wear them all day.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You don’t have to keep them in.” She moved to get up. “I can go.”

Clint turned to her quickly and held out his arm to stop her. “No! No, c’mon, stay.”

She felt bad about making his ears hurt, but he seemed earnest. So she stayed.

They watched the movie in silence for a few minutes. Clint never turned the volume on, and Natasha never asked him to. She pretty much had it memorized herself.

Vader and Luke were battling it out when Clint broke the silence. “ _Star Wars_ was one of the only good parts of my childhood,” he said quietly. “Me and my brother used to watch it all the time when our dad was passed out in the living room.”

His jaw twitched when he mentioned his father. Natasha got the impression that he was the reason Clint only had a few good parts of his childhood. She felt a sudden, protective urge to go shoot his father.

Instead of vigilante justice, she decided to share a piece of her childhood in return. “Ballet was the best part of my childhood… I was in a show in St. Petersburg when I was eight.”

“Wow. You must have been good.”

She nodded. “My mother was so proud.” She took a deep breath. “Then she died a year later. I was adopted by an American family... for a while. Had to move here, Anglicize my name. I used to be Natalia Romanova.”

“Do you prefer Natalia?”

“No. I’m Natasha now.”

“I like your name,” Clint said with a soft smile. “I always thought it suited you.”

She felt a smile tugging at her lips, causing his own smile to widen.

“What happened with your adoptive family?” Clint asked suddenly. Her smile fell and Clint backtracked. “Shit, sorry, nevermind. You don’t have to tell me.”

What was that saying? In for a penny, in for a pound? She had come this far.

“They weren’t much of a family. They wanted me as another trophy they could brag about." She hesitated. Clint's face was open, patient; willing but not expectant.

She looked away and continued. "When I was twelve, I injured my leg in practice. The doctor said I had to stay off of it for a while, but I was in a show the next night and my – _they_ made me go on. Ended up turning a treatable muscle tear into permanent damage. I collapsed on stage, had to go the hospital. The state found out how they had been treating me and the rest of the kids and took us away… and I was never able to do ballet professionally again. That’s why I teach it now.”

A moment of silence followed her story. She looked up and saw a sea of emotions in Clint's eyes; understanding, anger, sympathy. She felt vulnerable and exposed. She had bared a part of herself to him, much more than she had meant to. She feared he would say something placating like “I’m sorry” or look at her with pity.

“Thanks for telling me,” he said instead.

His hand was resting on his thigh. She reached over to cover it with her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You too.”

Before it could go on long enough to be termed holding hands, she let go and they finally turned back to the movie, taking turns reciting the dialogue. She felt tired then and probably could have gone back to bed. But Clint was entertaining her with his impression of the characters, and she made him laugh when all she did for Luke’s dialogue was let out a pathetic whine. Sleep could wait. 

\------------------

Natasha had not been a fan of Thanksgiving before she met Steve. It was a family holiday, and the fact that she had no family tended to put a damper on things. But Steve had no family either. So in college they made it a tradition to have their own little Thanksgiving dinner. Steve did almost all of the cooking, of course, because neither of them wanted to be poisoned. Her and Steve’s Thanksgiving was always one of her fondest memories of the year.

It would be different this year, she knew. Steve had Bucky now, and he would be there. But she liked Bucky. Pretty much everything she and Steve did together now involved him, and she found she didn’t mind extending most of their traditions to include another.

The day before Thanksgiving, it occurred to her that Clint didn’t have a family either.

“Hey, Clint, can I ask you – wait, what the hell are you doing?”

“Target practice.”

“… I can see that.”

“Then why did you ask?”

Repressing the urge to grab one of his arrows and stab him with it, Natasha stepped further into the living room to glance up at the ceiling. There was a target there. How it got there, Natasha wasn’t sure. But it was there, and clustered with arrows all, unsurprisingly, in the bullseye. Clint was laying on the floor beneath it, poised to let loose another arrow. The muscles in his arms tensed, then relaxed as he let the arrow fly and join the others.

“Any reason why you have to be doing this to the ceiling?”

“Some things are more fun horizontal.” He turned his head briefly to wink at her. She may have flushed a tiny bit. “You wanted to ask me something?”

“Huh?” She asked distractedly while he nocked another arrow.

“When you came in, you wanted to ask me something.” His biceps tensed and released again.

Oh, right. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

He nocked and released another arrow before answering in a deceptively casual voice. “Nothing.”

“At all?”

He shrugged as best he could from his prone position. “Usually I have dinner with Phil, but this year he and his soulmate are visiting her family.”

“Why don’t you have dinner with us? Me, Steve, and Bucky I mean.”

He finally stopped shooting and brought himself up on his elbows to look at her. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“We’re going to be here, anyway. What are you gonna do? Stay in your room all day and ignore us?”

That got a small smile out of him. “Well, when you put it that way. Thanks.”

“Of course. Now can you please remove the target from the ceiling? It’s kind of an eyesore.”

“You never take my decoration ideas,” he grumbled, but he couldn’t hide his smile. Nor could Natasha hide her grimace as he stood on the coffee table to remove it.

“The only other one you ever had was a leg shaped lamp like the one they had in _A Christmas Story_.”

“Which would have been awesome.”

Natasha did not want to have this argument a third time, so she ignored him and pulled out her phone. She had to text Steve and Bucky.

_Natasha: I know we had planned to do Thanksgiving at your place, but can we do it here instead?_

She held onto a dim hope that they would just say yes without asking for a reason. A hope that was crushed when the response came in a few minutes later.

_Steve: Why? We’re doing all the cooking._

_Natasha: I just think it would be nice if we could all be together here again. I miss when you were always here._

_Bucky: Don’t try the guilt trip. What’s the real reason?_

_Steve: Will Clint be joining us this year?_

Dammit. He knew her too well.

_Natasha: Yes. But he thinks the plan was to eat here the entire time. It was the only way to convince him he’s not intruding._

_Steve: Alright, fine. We’ll bring all the stuff over._

_Bucky: Anything for Hawkeye, huh?_

_Natasha: Thank you. And don’t be an ass, James._

_Bucky: Steve likes it when aldksfjada_

_Bucky: Steve -adlfkajdf_

_Steve: I’ve taken Bucky’s phone away. See you tomorrow._

_\-----------------_

By 'tomorrow,' he apparently meant the barest definition of tomorrow. The sun had only just come up when a loud series of knocks woke her up.

“What the fuck?” She grumbled when she opened the door. She could barely see the two of them behind the pots, pans, and bags they were carrying.

“We have to put the turkey in right away,” Steve explained.

“It was a nightmare carrying this stuff on the subway,” Bucky added. “You better appreciate us.”

“Loads.”

She retreated back into her room to get dressed. She would normally have slept another hour, but she was awake now. So she put on daytime clothes and went back out into the living room and laid down on the couch. Maybe she could have a little nap.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Bucky said from the kitchen, followed by the sound of pots and pans clanging around.

Or maybe not.

“You could have called first or something.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” She could hear the grin in Steve’s voice. She flipped over on the couch so she could look into the kitchen.

“You’re a bad influence,” she told Bucky.

“I know,” he said proudly.

She actually drifted off to sleep for a while, despite the sounds of cooking in the kitchen. It was almost nine by the time she woke again. Blinking sleep out of her eyes, she turned to look into the kitchen to see how the food was coming along.

Steve and Bucky were very affectionate while cooking. They bumped shoulders while mixing ingredients, stole kisses between steps, and made a reference to something sexual while basting the turkey and Natasha really, really did not need to know that. She turned back around on the couch so she couldn’t see them, but she could still _hear_ them.

She glanced towards Clint’s closed door. If she had to suffer through the Steve and Bucky love fest, then so did he. Besides, the parade was about to start. He couldn’t miss that.

She knocked and got no response. After the second knock, she figured that he probably slept without his hearing aids.

She debated for a moment whether to go in. She could feel Steve and Bucky’s eyes on her and remembered catching them having sex on the kitchen counter. Yeah, she needed another buffer out here.

She opened the door slowly and slid in, closing it almost all the way behind her.

She was surprised to find the lights already on, and the bed empty. She had fully expected him to still be asleep. But apparently he had risen early this morning because _there_ he was, standing in front of the bathroom sink, shaving, in nothing but a towel and holy shit, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. She’d seen him shirtless before but now her hands practically itched to reach over and touch him. She could see drops of water actually _glistening_ on his skin.

Natasha suddenly realized that she should not have come in. She would have left immediately, embarrassed and guilty that she’d walked into his room this way, but unfortunately the bathroom door was directly across from her and he’d already seen her.

He seemed surprised and confused. But not angry.

“I don’t have my aids in,” he said. “They’re on my nightstand over there, can you grab them?”

She walked over, stepping over a pile of dirty clothes on her way. They were small little devices with the word ‘Stark’ emblazoned on the side. She had no idea Tony designed hearing aids, and wondered if he made them just for Clint.

She brought them over, trying not to stare as he ran the razor over his cheek. Using the hand that wasn’t holding the razor, he worked one aid in, then the other. She should learn sign language, she thought, so he wouldn’t have to wear his aids when he didn’t want to.

“I’m sorry,” she said the second he had them both in. “I shouldn’t have come in like that. But Steve and Bucky are here. And the parade is about to start. It doesn’t really count as Thanksgiving if you don’t watch the parade.”

He smirked as he tapped the razor against the sink, and Natasha realized with a start that she had been raptly watching the razor’s progress this whole time.

“Oh, yeah?” Clint asked, and she forced herself to look at his eyes and not the razor. Why was this so distracting? “Is that in the official Thanksgiving rulebook?”

“Yes. I wrote it in myself.”

He turned to face her a little more, and her eyes caught something black on his abdomen. She glanced down and oh, right. His soulmark.

“Anyway,” she said quickly, even though Clint had been about to say something. She took a step back and refused to look at him. “Hurry up or you’re gonna miss the parade.” She turned and left the room, not looking back as she closed the door behind her.

Steve and Bucky looked up from the counter.

“What took you so long?” Bucky asked. 

“He was reluctant to wake up,” she said in her do-not-argue-with-me tone. The two soulmates looked skeptical, but thankfully said nothing.

Clint came out just in time for the parade. He seemed as though he would have been content to sit on the couch and watch it, but by this time Bucky and Steve had recruited Natasha to help them cook and Natasha recruited Clint. He angled the TV so they could see it from the kitchen, because he didn’t want to break her Official Thanksgiving Rule.

The parade was mostly background noise as they worked, though. Steve and Bucky were still doing the majority of the actual cooking, but she and Clint helped where there was the least chance they could screw something up. Or set something on fire.

They were peeling potatoes when Bucky brought Clint into an ongoing feud.

“We want to get a pet,” he announced. Steve and Natasha both rolled their eyes.

“Do we have to discuss this now?”

“Are you really trying to drag Clint into this?”

“Drag me into what?”

“Cat versus dog,” Bucky said.

“They’ve been arguing about it all week,” Natasha told Clint. “Even though the choice is clear: cat.”

“Who chooses a cat over a dog?” Clint asked seriously.

“Ha!” Steve exclaimed, reaching across the bowls to high-five him.

Bucky groaned. “Who wants to walk a dog in the winter?”

“Who wants to clean up a litter box all the time?” Steve argued.

“Cats are much quieter,” Natasha said, finding herself drawn into the argument despite herself.

“Yeah, but _dogs,”_ was Clint’s masterful counter-argument.

“Exactly.” Steve nodded.

“Well, it’s hard to argue with that logic.” Bucky sighed in mock-defeat. “I guess we’re bested here, Nat.”

“Don’t you have cats _and_ dogs are your shelter?” She asked Clint.

“Yes. Therefore I have the most authority on the subject, and you can trust my expert opinion.”

“You can’t argue with an expert,” Steve told Bucky, smirking.

“Seriously, though, come by the shelter when you do decide to get a dog. I can recommend you a great one.”

“Thanks, man.” Steve clapped him on the shoulder. More bro bonding, Natasha thought with an internal eye roll; shoulder clapping and mysterious stares into the distance while drinking beer. 

“How come you don’t have a dog if they’re so great?” Bucky asked.

“Well, I end up bringing home animals temporarily sometimes. Usually only for a day or two.”

“The puppy was cute,” Natasha said. “But messy.”

“I had always kind of planned to get a dog and never got around to it,” Clint continued. He threw Natasha a playful look. “Besides, my roommate apparently would want a cat instead.”

“Your roommate has much better taste than you.”

Steve snorted.

They continued to talk easily as they went about their tasks. They finished with the potatoes, and Steve dumped them into a pot of boiling water. Bucky handed them their new job, peeling _sweet_ potatoes, because they apparently needed two kinds of potatoes, when they ended up trading stories about soulmates they had known. Natasha did not contribute much to the discussion, but Clint did.

“A pair of soulmates actually met in one of my foster homes,” he said.

“Really?” Steve asked eagerly, as though he was expecting some deeply romantic tale.

“Yeah. A couple of smug assholes, too,” Clint said, and Steve’s face fell a little. Natasha and Bucky laughed. “They never talked to anyone else after they met except about each other. Dude walked around all self-satisfied all the time because they’d sneak off to have sex. I used to shoot stuff at him with a sling shot from far away.”

“Of course you did,” Natasha muttered, not without some affection.

“Never got in trouble, either,” Clint bragged. “No one believed I could make that kind of shot. Plus, none of the other kids would side with him.”

Bucky laughed. “You and Natasha totally would have gotten along at that age.”

Natasha sort of wished she had known him then. They probably _would_ have gotten along. A sullen former ballet prodigy and a rebellious circus performer. She would have been intrigued by him, perhaps enough to break her rule about making no friends in foster homes.

They started setting the table around noon. She and Clint were given this task, as they were out of harmless things they could do with the actual food. It was a small table, really more in the living room than the kitchen. Normally, they just ate at the counter on the stools, but Steve always insisted Thanksgiving dinner had to be around a table.  

Finally, the table was set and the food was cooked. Clint had been complaining about his hunger for over an hour, but Steve was insistent that they couldn’t eat until they were sitting at the table and everything was ready. When Steve said they could sit down, Natasha thought Clint might actually cry tears of joy.

“Wait!” Steve exclaimed, as they were all serving themselves. “We have to go around and say what we’re thankful for!”

Everyone let out groans and Natasha worried Clint was going to throw himself on the table if lunch was delayed one more minute. She took pity on him.

“Fine,” she said. “But we can do it while we eat.”

“I’m thankful for you right now,” Clint said around a mouthful of potatoes.

“I’m thankful for people who chew with their mouths closed.”

Clint obligingly gave her a closed-lip smile around his giant bite, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk.

“Those do not count,” Steve said sternly. “Bucky, why don’t you go first?”

“Gotta say, I’m also thankful for people who chew with their mouths closed.”

Clint was not so obliging with him, and made a very rude gesture that caused Natasha to burst out laughing.

“Well,” Steve said haughtily. “ _I_ am thankful for my friends, and my soulmate. And that we could all be here together.”

Natasha felt her heart swell a little. If anyone knew how to set her off, it was Steve and his damn genuine emotions. Bucky rubbed Steve’s shoulder affectionately. “I’m thankful for you, punk.”

Clint threw Steve a smile. “I’m thankful that you guys can cook so damn well.”

“I’m thankful for people to share Thanksgiving with,” Natasha said, then quickly looked down at her plate and stuffed a bite of turkey in her mouth, hoping her blush was just in her imagination.

“Aaw, she does have emotions,” Bucky said as though he was discovering something adorable about her.

“I could have told you that years ago,” Steve said. “You should have seen her the first time she saw _Titanic._ I came home from class and she was bawling her eyes out in front of the TV.”

Natasha glared daggers at him.

“It’s okay,” Clint said, patting her arm. “Everyone cries at a movie at some point.”

She ignored his consolation and sent Steve a mischievous smile. “Steve smoked weed in college.”

He gasped. “Nat! That was _one_ time!”

“What?” Bucky looked amazed. “You never told me that, you jerk!”

Clint was shaking his head, amused. “You’re an officer of the law, Steve. For shame.”

“Natasha has a tattoo!”

Clint choked on his food and gave her a very _not_ subtle once over, clearly trying to figure out where it was.

“Steve…” Natasha growled, grabbing the closest thing to her – the serving knife – to hold out threateningly. “I’ve killed for less,” she said in an exaggerated Russian accent.

Clint chuckled a little, and reached over to grab the knife. “Calm down now, Nat.” He jokingly tried to take the knife from her.

How it happened, Natasha was never quite sure. One minute, she and Clint were playfully wrestling over the knife – not the wisest decision, she acknowledged – and the next it was flying out of their hands.

And straight into the television, which gave off a couple of dangerous-looking sparks before going black.

“Wow,” Bucky breathed, breaking the silence that had fallen as they all stared at the TV. “I think that went straight through the middle.”

“The Amazing Hawkeye never misses a shot,” Natasha muttered. Dammit. She had really liked that TV.

“Totally your fault,” Clint said. Natasha whipped her head around angrily, but he was smiling.

“Oh, please. That aim was all you,” she said.

“I was merely trying to control your obviously violent temper.”

“How about it was both of your faults?” Steve suggested rationally.

“I can share blame.” Natasha shrugged.

Clint nodded. “We’ll get a new one later.”

“What?” Natasha asked, surprised. “Together?”

“Well, yeah,” Clint said like it was obvious. “We both broke it. We’re both gonna use it. We can own something jointly, right?”

 _Yeah,_ Natasha thought. _Until you meet your soulmate and move out. Then what do we do with it? Share custody?_ But out loud she just said, “Sure,” and dug back into her food. She wondered sometimes if Clint just forgot he had his mark, and by association that he would be meeting his soulmate before long. They had only talked about this twice, which was a little unusual now that she thought about it. In her other experience with marked people, they couldn’t shut up about their mark for five minutes.

She only realized she’d been brooding a bit because Clint flicked a green bean at her. She re-joined the conversation with a glare in his direction and vowed to exact her revenge later with a dinner roll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Natasha tells Clint a bedtime story, she has a distressing revelation about her feelings for him, and Tony comes to visit with his best friend - alcohol.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to beneathground, stefaniegk, Hand_of_the_Alex, RandomFangirl, ARussian, lia, and m0th3rw4r for commenting on the last chapter! I'm enjoying your speculation, and all your questions will be answered in time. :)

Two nights after Thanksgiving, Natasha was up in the middle of the night in front of the broken TV, reading a book. She hadn’t been able to sleep again, but she had started not to mind late nights so much. She didn’t need a lot of sleep, really. 

She had assumed that Clint would just not be joining her tonight, because every other time he had already been in the living room when she came out. So she was surprised when, this time, he came stumbling out of his room about an hour after her.

He stopped still when he saw her. She tried not to notice his distinct lack of shirt; failed.

“I don’t have my aids in, hang on.” He turned back into his room.

“You don’t have to!” She called. “I’m about to go back to bed anyway!” But of course he couldn’t hear her.

She’d asked him yesterday to help her learn sign language. He had seemed pleased with the request and jumped right into it. But so far she’d only learned the alphabet and two other things; ‘dogs are better’ (he hadn’t told her what she was signing until after) and ‘shut up, Clint’ (she’d requested that one).

He came out again less than a minute later, aids in and shirt on, and flopped down onto the couch beside her. He stared for a moment at the broken TV, knife still embedded in it (because "But Nat, it looks so cool!"), and said, “Oh. Right.”

“Yeah,” Natasha said. “Hence the book.” She showed him the cover.

“What’s it about?”

“It’s about a world where there’s no indication of soulmates. So people never really know for sure if they’ve met them.”

“That’s weird. And depressing.”

“I don’t know. I think it would be nice if people could just… choose who to be with. Instead of being told what to do by some mark on their skin.”

“That’s… yeah,” he said, brow furrowed. “I didn’t think about it that way. Maybe you’re right.”

He was looking into her eyes, and she couldn’t seem to look away. Times like these, sitting next to him at night, the intensity of his gaze made something burn in her chest.

Clint cleared his throat. “Uh, so. What do you think your mark will say?” He asked, seeming to realize suddenly how close they’d been sitting and scooting back just a little. Natasha felt like she could breathe again, but was oddly not relieved.

“I won’t have one.” She explained before he could ask. “It seems to run in my family. My mother and my grandmother both didn’t have soulmates.”

“What? How is that…? I thought everyone had a soulmate.”

Natasha shrugged with a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “Well, not my family. My grandmother had an arranged marriage, because that was the custom at the time if you didn’t have your mark by a certain age. My mother said her dad was an asshole. She never said anything about my father, though, and I never met him. I assume I was the product of a one night stand or something like that.”

He was looking at her in some undefinable way that made the fire in her chest flicker again. “My grandmother lived to be very old without ever getting her mark, so it wasn’t just an age thing. I just… don’t have a soulmate.”

“You don’t know that,” Clint said softly. “There’s no way someone as amazing as you doesn’t have a soulmate.”

She clearly needed some kind of heartburn medicine because her chest was just aching every time he looked at her.

“Maybe it’s not a terrible thing,” she said. “My mother used to tell me this story when I was a child. It was a fairy tale, and it was supposed to be about how great soulmates are. But it’s just this girl who meets her soulmate, and then he’s shipped off to sea. She waits for him for her whole life. He finally makes it back when they’re both very old, and they’re reunited. And _that_ is supposed to be a happy ending. She wastes her entire life waiting for this guy, and because he’s her soulmate it’s romantic.”

“Okay, yeah,” Clint said. “I know that one. But that is actually a stupid story. There are a lot of way better stories out there. Didn’t you like any happier fairy tales when you were a kid?”

“Well… there was this one,” she admitted. Clint made a ‘go on’ motion with his hand. “I read it when I was with my adopted family. It was a Russian fairy tale, one of the only books the library had that was in Russian. I had to sneak it out of the library because they didn’t like me focusing on anything extracurricular that wasn’t dancing. I read it whenever I had time to myself.”

“What’s it called?”

“ _Ruby Red_.”

“Never heard of it,” Clint said. “Tell me.”

“Tell you?”

“Tell me the story. You read it so many times, you must know it pretty well.”

“It’s been _years,_ Clint. I lost that copy, and I was never able to find it again.”

“Come on,” Clint implored. He scooted back on the couch so he was leaning his head against the arm rest and swung his legs to rest atop hers. He ignored her warning look with a grin. “You broke the TV. Entertain me.”

She was clearly not going to be getting any more reading done, so she let out a resigned sigh and closed her book. Clint did a fist pump in victory, before putting his arms behind his head and closing his eyes with a little smile on his face. “Hit me.”

“Alright, fine,” Natasha said. “But I’m going to bed after.” Clint nodded in agreement, eyes still closed. So she leaned back into the couch to get more comfortable, took a deep breath, and began.

“There once was a beautiful peasant girl named Ruby Red who lived in a little village. Everyone said she was the most beautiful girl in all the land. One day, she got her soulmark but, like most peasants, she was unable to read. So she took the journey to the house of the nearest nobleman, way up on a mountain far away from her home, so that he could read her mark for her.

“She waited in line for a long time, because every peasant had to have their marks read to them by a nobleman, as they were the only ones who could read. When she finally reached the end of the line, the nobleman was struck by her beauty. She showed him her arm, where her mark was written, and the nobleman decided to do a very bad thing. Where her mark actually said ‘ _Hello there,’_ the nobleman lied and told her it said ‘ _Next person'_ because those were the first words he spoke to her and he wanted her for himself.”

“What an ass,” Clint said with a yawn.

“No interruptions during story time,” Nat admonished. “The wicked nobleman immediately took her to the capitol where they would be wed and introduced her to the prince as his future bride. When she met the prince she fell in love immediately and he said to her _hello there._ The nobleman, knowing what her mark said, whisked her away before she could say anything. Ruby Red felt a terrible guilt, because she felt no love for her intended husband but loved the prince instead. The nobleman kept her away from the prince while the preparations for the wedding were being made. On the day of the wedding… Clint?”

A tiny snore was her only response and she couldn’t help but smile fondly. Clint had fallen asleep. His head was tilted to the side, resting on his arm. His cheek was pressed against his bicep so much that his lips were pushed up in a crooked pout. He looked ridiculous and adorable and Natasha had to restrain herself from doing something stupid like stroking his cheek.

She should probably get up, but she was exhausted. She leaned back even further into the cushions. She’d just rest her eyes for a minute, then head back to bed. Just for a minute.

 

She woke up in the morning with a crick in her neck, a cramp in her leg, and her arm falling asleep. She blinked slowly into consciousness and became aware of the strange position she’d slept in. Her lower half was positioned as though she was sitting down, but her top half was leaned over onto the couch and her head was resting on a… breathing pillow?

_Oh, shit._

She jerked up immediately, feeling the pain her neck spike as she did so, and risked looking in Clint’s direction. He was either already awake or woke up when she did, because he was staring at her, eyes wide and… surprised? Confused? Some kind of emotion she couldn’t quite name and oh, _god, was that drool on her cheek?_ She looked down at Clint’s shirt and saw a small wet spot and she felt her face heat up. She didn’t think there was any subtle way to wipe that off without him noticing.

“Uh… good morning,” Clint finally spoke, his voice deep and hoarse with sleep. He was still laying there with his legs thrown over her lap and his biceps straining against his shirt and his hair rumpled and her drool on his shirt and she had never been more attracted to him.

“Morning,” she said quietly. “Sorry about falling asleep on you.”

“It’s okay. I must have fallen asleep first.”

She realized then that there was a lot of sun streaming in through the window, and it was a good thing it was Sunday because she had slept much later than usual. She’d slept pretty well, too, despite the ache in her neck and legs.

An awkward silence fell, Natasha refusing to meet his eyes. She was full of conflicting desires; she wanted to both keep her eyes averted and look at him forever. She wanted to retreat to her room but she also wanted to lay back down on Clint’s chest. She definitely wanted to say something to break the silence but she had no idea what. 

“So, um… you want to go TV shopping today?” Clint asked eventually.

Natasha jumped at the distraction. “Yes!” She threw his legs off of her and practically sprinted to her bedroom. “Give me half an hour!”

She figured that should be enough time for her blush to fade.

\--------------

“We are not getting that TV.”

“But Nat! Look at it!”

“I see it. It’s literally impossible to miss.”

“It’s perfect.”

“It’s _huge._ It’s not even going to fit.”

“That’s what she said.”

“Oh my _god.”_ She threw her hands up in exasperation. She was sure Clint was 80% joking just to annoy her.

“Thor would be so jealous,” Clint said, rubbing his hands together as he gazed fondly at the large screen. Okay, maybe 70% joking.

“I _do_ base most of my decisions on what will irritate Thor.”

“See? Perfect.”

“Clint, look at the price tag.”

“Ah… uh, it’s an investment?” He tried hopefully.

“No. Come on, let’s go look at the televisions that will actually fit in the apartment.”

Clint sighed, resigned. Natasha had started walking further into the store, not bothering to check if Clint was going to follow her, when she heard it; a voice from behind her that said, “Nice to meet you.”

Her heart stopped, and she turned quickly to Clint only to find that he wasn’t talking to anybody. There were two people off to the side, one an employee and one clearly a customer. It was the employee who had said the words, and not to Clint.

Natasha let out the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. Clint had turned to look too, but now he was facing her. There was an awkward, charged silence between them.

“Had any more false alarms?” Natasha asked, hating how strained her voice sounded. She forced herself to smile, as though she was asking casually.

“Just one,” Clint said. She thought his smile looked a little tense. “At the shelter. An old man with no teeth. I was so disappointed it wasn’t him.”

She laughed but it was forced. “Let’s go look at the TVs, huh?” Clint nodded, and this time she made sure he was following her before she walked off.

Clint’s teasing mood seemed to have disappeared and he searched seriously for a TV, so she let him take the reins. She honestly didn’t care that much as long as it functioned and would physically fit in the apartment.

She was distracted while they searched the store, but she refused to analyze why. She stubbornly repressed her thoughts all day - while they bought the TV, loaded it into the cab, carried it up to the living room, and set it up. It wasn’t until she was alone in her room that night that she finally allowed herself to think about it.

She knew she was attracted to Clint. That wasn’t exactly news; she’d known that the minute she saw him. And she knew she was friends with him.  

It was impossible not to be friends with him. With the way he shot arrows at a target on the ceiling, and diffused tension with a joke, and loved animals. Or how he could hardly do his own laundry, burned himself on the toaster, didn’t need sound to watch _Star Wars_ , had the same taste in food as a five year old. The way his blue eyes flashed with some unknowable emotions when she looked at him and the way his whole face crinkled when he smiled genuinely and the way he gently touched her shoulder or arm when he was offering wordless comfort.

Okay… maybe those weren’t all entirely friendly feelings. Especially not considering that her heart beat a little faster when they brushed hands or looked at each other for too long or she saw him without a shirt on.

But dammit, she wasn’t _supposed_ to be feeling this way. It was stupid and reckless and pointless to develop feelings for someone who was not your soulmate. This was why people had one night stands. She wasn’t supposed to want to rest her head on Clint’s shoulder while they watched a movie. She wasn’t supposed to want to fall into his arms when she came home from work. She wasn’t supposed to want to kiss away the lines on his forehead when he was upset. How could she allow herself to like someone this way? He had a soulmate, and it was not her even though she’d said his words because she had no mark and a bunch of other people had said his words to him, too.

But sometimes, the way he smiled at her with those mysterious emotions in his eyes made her think that he could be feeling something too.

Frustrated, she opened her laptop and Googled: _Can soulmarks be wrong?_ She clicked on the first result. Then the second. Then the third. The general consensus seemed to be that there was no way to prove for sure, but probably not. If a pair of soulmates ended up splitting or not falling in love, which was rare, it was not because their souls weren’t truly connected but just because their minds were in their way somehow. But for most people, they connect on a deep level when they get to know each other and find that their souls –

Natasha shut her laptop before she could read any further. None of this was what she wanted to hear.

\------------

The next night, things seemed normal from the outside. The two of them were sitting in front of the new television, feet kicked up on the coffee table, celebrating their new acquisition by watching _Dancing with the Stars._ But on the inside, Natasha felt hyper-aware of him. Every slight movement he made on the couch, every comment he made about the show, every time he laughed at something she said - she felt it all in her very bones. It was like he had taken up residence in her mind overnight and refused to leave. 

“Is that even technically dancing?” Clint asked. He stretched, leaning back on the couch, his shirt raising just enough to reveal a small strip of skin and the line of hair that disappeared into his jeans.

Natasha snapped her eyes back to the television. “Yes,” she said, even though she hadn’t been paying attention. “But only technically.” She risked a glance over at him to see that his arms were still stretched back over the couch. One of them was right behind her, actually. If she leaned back even a fraction of an inch further her neck would be touching him.

She stayed as still as a statue.

They made it through two episodes before their quiet, TV-filled night was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Clint said. She pulled her legs back to let him through, even though he could easily have gone around the table. He brushed against her knees as he walked past.

She wasn’t sure who she was expecting at the door, but Tony Stark was pretty far down on the list. He may have been Clint’s friend, but as far as she knew he’d only been over one time.

But there he was, standing at their door with a grin and two large bottles of alcohol. “I come bearing gifts.”

“Tony, what are you doing here?” Clint asked, sounding exasperated. “Can’t you call first?”

“Why?” He looked past him at Natasha. “Am I interrupting something?”

Before she could throw something at his head, Clint answered with a firm, “No. What do you want? You never come over.”

“Can’t a guy just miss his friend?” Tony sounded affronted. “I am a sensitive, caring person, you know.” When neither Clint nor Natasha responded to that, he sighed and said, “Pepper is at a conference in London and I’m bored.”

Natasha couldn’t hear what Clint said next, as he lowered his voice, but Tony responded, “Well, obviously Natasha is invited to partake.” He shoved past Clint, who shot her an apologetic look, and came over to her, holding the two bottles of what she now saw to be vodka and gin like prizes. “What do you say, Red? Pep told me about your famous alcohol tolerance. Maybe this stuff can get you drunk.”

“It’s a Monday, Tony, for fuck’s sake.” Clint groaned and flopped back on the couch. Tony shrugged carelessly and tossed one of the bottles at Natasha, who caught it easily.

“Natasha is up for it, aren’t you?”

She said nothing, just popped open the vodka and drank directly from the bottle, to Tony and Clint’s amusement. “There are shot glasses in the kitchen.”

Tony turned to Clint. “Why can’t you be as cool as her?”

 

In college, Natasha had made something of a hobby out of classifying the various stages of drunkenness different people could achieve. Steve only had one stage; he went straight from sober to stumbling around, drunk off his ass. Sam had four – disoriented, increased desire to dance, happy, and thinking he could fly. She learned Bucky’s shortly after he and Steve met: extremely confident, then extremely horny. She could have done without that knowledge, actually.

But she was looking forward to categorizing Tony and Clint.

Tony’s first stage, it appeared, was just to become louder. Clint became very giggly. Natasha had yet to feel any effect.

“And then – and then –“ Clint broke off, overcome by giggles.

Tony took over the story. “I woke up naked on top of the copy machine.”

They burst out laughing, and Natasha joined them.

“I remember Pepper telling me this story,” she said. “Only she didn’t refer to you by name, Clint, she just called you Tony’s friend.”

“Some friend,” Tony grumbled. “Letting me drink absinthe and then leaving me unattended.”

Clint broke into giggles again.

 

Natasha quickly learned that Tony’s stages of drunkenness were just him getting progressively more _Tony_ , which essentially meant he talked more and more loudly, sometimes standing on the coffee table for effect. Natasha was finally feeling the shots she’d had, which meant she was entering her first stage – quiet and deadly-looking, according to Steve.

Clint, who she would have pegged as a perpetually happy drunk, got quieter too and more contemplative, asking questions that ranged from mundane to philosophical.

“What if aliens have their mouths somewhere besides their face?”

“Did soulmarks exist before language?”

“Do you think dogs like pizza?”

Tony answered each question as though it deserved equal consideration. Natasha took another swig of vodka and enjoyed the Tony and Clint show.

 

She stopped drinking after her first stage, but Tony and Clint kept going. To her dismay, Clint’s next stage of drunk appeared to be a deep kind of sadness. He laid down, stared at the ceiling, and hardly spoke. And when he did speak, it was either to say something depressing, self-deprecating, or way too personal. 

When he didn’t even laugh at Tony’s drunken attempts to tap dance, Natasha decided to cut him off.

Clint was laying on his back on the couch, and he gave her a strange look when she walked over to him. He didn’t protest when she took the nearly empty bottle of gin away, but he did ask, “Hey Nat? Where’s your tattoo?”

“Her what?” Tony looked gleeful. “You have a tattoo? I want to see!” He looked her over, as if expecting to suddenly be endowed with X-ray vision. She rolled her eyes and shoved his phone into his hand.

“I think you should call your car to come pick you up.”

“It’s waiting out front, duh.” Tony laughed.

“Okay, then why don’t you go get into it? Clint can’t play anymore, it’s past his bedtime.”

Clint, who was staring at her through this entire interaction, didn’t protest, so Tony sighed deeply and left without much argument, taking the rest of the vodka with him.

Clint was still staring at her. She found it a little disconcerting, especially since he looked so sad. She went over to sit on the coffee table across from him, not really sure what to do to comfort him. She’d probably just have to wait until the effects of the alcohol wore off.

“Sorry I brought up your tattoo,” he said. He sighed deeply.

“It’s okay.” 

He didn’t seem to have heard her. “I just blurt stuff out sometimes. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You’re an idiot, Barton,” she said, trying for some levity.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m not as smart as you. Or Tony or Thor.”

“Clint, that’s not –“

“And I’m a slob.”

“No, you’re –“

“I don’t even know why you’re friends with me.”

“For lots of reasons, Clint,” Natasha hastened to assure him before he could continue his listing. But she really had no idea how to comfort a sad, drunk, babbling Clint. “Maybe you should go to bed? You’re very drunk.”

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his eyes. “My dad used to drink all the time.” Oh, no. Natasha suddenly felt like she was invading his privacy, because he would not be telling her this if he was sober. She tried again to get him to go to bed, but he kept going. “Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll end up like him. Or my brother. Or that everybody I care about will leave like he did.”

Oh, she should definitely not be hearing this. She wasn’t even sure Clint was aware he was speaking out loud. She mentally added another stage to his drunk scale – unconsciously confessional.

“You know how I ended up in the foster system? Cause Barney met his stupid soulmate when he was 17. She went around stealing shit and she convinced him to run away with her. He wanted me to come with them, but I didn’t want to do illegal stuff. Barney’s soulmate told him he couldn’t leave me as a loose end and I would tell on them, so he stabbed me in the shoulder and left. Some clowns took me to the hospital, and that’s how the state found me.”

He fell silent, lost in memory. Natasha, heart in her throat, laid a hand gently on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry that happened to you, Clint,” she said softly. “But I… care about you. I won’t leave, okay?” He blinked up at her, looking desperate to believe her. Natasha privately thought that he was the one more likely to leave once he met his soulmate, but that was unfair to him.

She was surprised by the relative speed and ease with which Clint had inserted himself into her life; she’d hardly known him for a month and already he was one of the most important people in her life. She liked him enough that she would still be his friend after he met his soulmate and inevitably moved out, and just had to trust that he felt the same way about her. Steve may have moved out after he met his soulmate, but that didn’t mean that he left her, or that Clint would.

He was still looking sad. The comfort angle didn’t seem to be working, so she went with distraction. “Wanna see my tattoo?”

His tired eyes lit up. Natasha stood, pulling down her jeans just enough to reveal the pair of red ballet slippers on her lower hip.

Clint reached out a hand and slowly traced his finger over it, staring as if transfixed. Natasha shivered at the contact. His hand fell away.

“’S pretty,” he mumbled and his eyes closed, a little smile on his face.

Natasha grabbed the blanket from the top of the couch and threw it over him. She contemplated trying to get him to his bed, as this would be the second night in a row he slept on the couch. But he already appeared to be asleep.

She cleaned up all the cups laying around the living room and put them in the dishwasher, then went to check on Clint again, she couldn’t seem to help it. He didn’t look quite peaceful, as she’d sometimes heard sleeping people described. His brow was a little furrowed. Before she could stop herself, she reached down and smoothed the hair away from his forehead.

“N’Tasha?” He mumbled.

She pulled her hand away as if his words had burned it. He didn’t open his eyes. “Yes, Clint?”

“I know I’ll forget most of this in the morning. But I hope I remember this.”

Despite kind of hoping that he didn’t remember this particular part, she couldn’t help but smile indulgently. “Goodnight, Clint.”

He said nothing, already back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Ruby Red was originally going to be called Ruby Rose, but then I found out that there's an actress named Ruby Rose so I changed it to avoid confusion. 
> 
> Next time: Natasha and Clint hang out with Jane and Thor but it is definitely, totally not a date.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, you guys have been absolutely amazing with the comments and you inspired me to get this one out a little early! Thank you so much to Supercatural98, zombie_socks, avengedbarnes, m0th3rw4r, stefaniegk, bigbobsbeepers, Karolina94, CloudAtlas, RandomFangirl, TheHappyEgg, Hand_of_the_Alex, onecent, and starrynightshade for reviewing the last chapter!

Over the past couple of lessons, Natasha had been pleased to see that Wanda and Pietro were returning to normal. They were still a little quieter than they used to be, but the teasing was back. And this time Pietro even brought up the fact that he was technically older, which he hadn’t done in weeks. Natasha had been starting to get worried.

“I want you to practice the routine for one hour when you get home,” she told them once they had finished the cool down. “One hour and no more. Got it?”

Identical eye rolls. “What kind of instructor tells their students to practice _less?_ ” Wanda complained.

“The kind that doesn’t want you to strain yourself and cause an injury.”

“That’s Ms. Natasha,” Pietro said with a smirk. “Always gotta have an answer for everything.”

“That is correct. Now go change. It’s too cold to go out like that.”

As the twins trudged to the back rooms to change, Natasha went over to check her phone. There was the usual from Steve and Bucky about some decoration they couldn’t decide whether to buy, Pepper telling her about some new sushi place they had to try, and a long string of messages from Clint.

_Clint: Hey, wanna go to dinner with Thor and Jane tonight? I don’t want to be the third wheel._

_Clint: Not that you’d be like the fourth wheel or anything._

_Clint: Well I guess technically you would._

_Clint: It’s just that they’re all couple-y so it’ll be awkward if I’m the only one there._

_Clint: But also I just love your company. Obviously._

_Clint: I wish I could take these messages back._

_Clint: Disregard previous messages. Dinner tonight? You, me, Thor, Jane? Y or N?_

She was so busy reading his messages that she didn’t hear Wanda and Pietro come up behind her until they were right over her shoulders – damn her diminutive height – reading the messages, as well.

“Who's Clint?”

“That’s your roommate, right?”

“Dinner? Are you going on a daaaaaate?”

“No,” Natasha said. “He’s just a friend.”

Wanda and Pietro looked skeptical and damn, if she couldn’t even fool a couple of teenagers was everyone else going to be able to read her feelings? But maybe teenagers just saw that kind of thing everywhere. Hormones and all.

“Out to dinner with another couple? Sounds like a date to me,” Pietro said with a smirk.

“Or four people just going to dinner,” Natasha said firmly. “Besides, he has his soulmark.”

That was the wrong thing to say, as Wanda and Pietro’s happy, teasing faces fell into more serious expressions. 

“Do you believe in that stuff, then?” Wanda asked quietly. “That you’re supposed to be with your soulmate forever and all?”

“Well, that’s how it is for most people,” Natasha admitted. “But not everyone.”

She really wished she was better with advice. She could ramble off platitudes pretty well, could tell them it would be okay with a convincing face. But she didn’t think they’d believe her, and she didn’t want to offer empty comfort.

Clint’s face came to her, and she remembered the conversation they’d had after she found out about Wanda and Pietro’s parents.

“You guys seen _Star Wars?”_ They nodded. “Well, you know Anakin and Padme were soulmates, but that ended pretty terribly. Maybe it would have been better if they hadn’t been together.”

They mostly looked confused at that. Then Pietro said, “I can’t believe you’re talking about the prequels.”

They squabbled about the movies all the way out the door, and Natasha was relieved. Maybe she didn’t exactly cheer them up, but at least they were distracted.

She pulled up her phone again to send Clint a _Yes,_ reminding herself that this could in no way be a date. Because people who were not soulmates did not do that kind of thing. She was just a friend there to talk to when Thor and Jane started being all “couple-y.” It wasn’t a date, and could never be a date.

No matter what her traitorous heart really wanted.

\-------------

They were at a pretty romantic restaurant, and Natasha could definitely see why Clint didn’t want to come here as a third wheel. She had gone to a lot of places with Steve and Bucky, but always to bars or clubs or diners, nowhere that was occupied primarily by soulmates.

She had only met Thor twice; once when he helped Clint move in, and another time when she came home to he and Clint playing video games on the couch. She liked him. And she had never met Jane before, but she ended up liking her too.  

“So, Natasha,” Jane said, sipping her glass of wine. “Clint says you teach ballet?”

She nodded. Jane continued, “Thor and I are going to see The Nutcracker this weekend. He’s convinced he’ll be bored.”

“I didn’t say bored!” Thor sputtered with a worried glance at Natasha. “I’m sure ballet is quite… enchanting. I have just never seen a performance before, I don’t know what it entails.”

“Well, I don’t find watching nearly as entertaining as performing,” she admitted.

“Oh yeah,” Jane said. “Clint said you did a bunch of shows when you were a kid. Said you were a child prodigy.”

“Did he now?” Natasha threw an amused glance Clint’s way, which only grew more amused when she realized he was blushing. “Clint is very talkative.”

She dearly wanted to tease him, but Thor changed the subject. She’d just save it for later.

By the time they ordered their food, Natasha could _really_ see why Clint didn’t want to come here without her. Thor and Jane, sitting on the same side of the booth, were whispering and giggling and so wrapped up in each other that she counted only two visible hands between them.

“Is his hand actually _up_ her shirt?” Clint muttered, close to her ear.

“Too dark to tell,” Natasha whispered. “Are they always like this?”

“ _Yes,”_ Clint whispered back emphatically. “This is why I was so eager to move out.”

She felt the strange urge to cover his hand with hers and tell him she was glad he did. Repressing that embarrassing thought, she instead told him, “They may actually be worse than Steve and Bucky. At least they can usually keep their hands to themselves in public. Usually.”

“They got pretty handsy at the bar towards the end of the night.”

“Oh yeah, once Steve has a couple drinks in him he’s hopeless. Bucky’s just always like that.”

Clint laughed. He was aimlessly stirring his straw around in his drink and she found herself oddly distracted by his hand. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the restaurant, or her recent revelation that she felt more for him than she should, but everything he did felt intoxicating to her.

He picked up his straw, twirling it between his deft fingers. She could see the veins twitch in his hand as he did so. Her eyes followed the prominent vein in his arm until it disappeared under his rolled up shirt sleeve.

She took a long drink to cool down.

Thor and Jane showed no signs of wanting to end their private conversation, so Clint and Natasha soon moved on to one of her favorite restaurant games. She figured it was a good way to distract herself.

“Okay… those two.” Clint pointed to a couple two booths down from them.

Natasha studied them for a moment. “Hmm… well, the blonde girl’s got gages big enough to throw a football through. So her mark probably says _‘Hey, I like your holes.’_ And the brunette girl’s says _‘Thanks, want to see my other ones?’_

Clint choked on his drink. “Jesus, Nat.”  

She smiled proudly. “You do them,” she said, and pointed to another table.

“Okay,” Clint said. He was sitting on the inside of the booth, so he had to lean over her a little bit to get a good look. She did her best to breathe normally and ignore his proximity and the fact that wow, he smelled pretty good. Had he put on cologne? “That’s the most boring looking couple I’ve ever seen.”

“I know.” That was why she had chosen them – it would be hard to make their marks sexual, which was what this game usually turned into. She figured Clint would be up to the challenge, though.

“His mark says _‘Hello, you look nice and boring.’_ And hers is _‘Yes, it would be more fun to fuck oatmeal.’_

She snorted. “Nice. Though a man would never admit that about himself.”

Clint was scanning the restaurant for another couple when the food came and they dropped their game to eat. Thor and Jane disentangled.

“We wanted to ask you,” Thor began once he had shoveled in half of his food. “If you would want to join us to go see the Rockefeller tree lighting?”

“I know it’s probably touristy,” Jane said with a sheepish smile. “But it’s my first Christmas in New York.”

Natasha glanced at Clint. He shrugged and tilted his head in her direction, which she thought was his way of saying ‘up to you.’

“Sure,” she answered. “Let’s go rub elbows with some tourists.”

Thankfully, they stayed far enough back from the tree that their elbows remained unrubbed. Jane and Thor went up a little closer, but Clint and Natasha kept their distance. Neither of them were much for strangers or crowds.

She did have to admit that it was a pretty beautiful sight, though, even before the tree was lit. Standing in the middle of Rockefeller Center, decorated for Christmas; people selling hot chocolate with little marshmallows; it was even lightly snowing. Natasha was not a huge fan of Christmas, but even she felt a little bit of the spirit that night.

Clint being right beside her probably helped, she could admit. They were standing close enough that she could feel the shivers that occasionally raced through him. Natasha was not as effected by the cold, but she leaned into him a little bit for warmth. Because he was cold. Totally selfless act on her part.

“I’ve never actually seen the tree lighting in person,” Natasha confessed. “Even though I’ve lived here most of my life.” It was true that you never explore your own city, she supposed.

“I saw it my first year in the city,” Clint said. “I was kind of disappointed that it didn’t immediately fill me with Christmas cheer and make me love the holiday. But at least it wasn’t a bad memory.”

Unlike the rest of his Christmas memories, she thought, filling in what he’d left unsaid.

“I’ve never been a fan of Christmas, either,” Natasha said. “Without a family, you know, what’s the point? Steve and I usually have dinner together. But he and Bucky just moved in together, so I expect they may want some privacy this year.”

“We can survive Christmas together,” he said. Then his face lit up, as if suddenly remembering something. “We need to take a picture!”

“Of the tree?”

“Yeah, that’s a thing,” Clint told her, rummaging in his pocket to pull out his phone. “Selfie time!”

“I don’t really do selfies,” Natasha protested, but allowed Clint to turn her around so that their backs were to the tree.

“Now you do!” He said cheerfully, holding up the screen so they could see themselves. He put his arm around her shoulder. She could hardly feel it through all the layers between them, but it inexplicably made her warmer. He was grinning, a real one with his face all scrunched up, and that alone was enough to make Natasha smile.

He took the picture, and Natasha went so far as to give it a nod of approval. She wanted to ask him to send it to her, but something stopped her. They turned back to the tree. Clint’s arm slipped from her shoulders but they remained close enough that their sides were still pressed together. 

A booming voice from up front carried to them from the speakers a moment later. _“Alright, folks, the tree is about to light up! Grab the hand of your soulmate if you’ve found them and keep your eyes on the tree.”_ This announcement was followed by some romantic Christmas song playing.

Natasha bristled. She pulled away from Clint a little so that they were no longer touching, but not before she felt him stiffen too.

She stood tense as the tree lit up. It was beautiful, but she couldn’t really appreciate it. Why did everything have to be about soulmates? She just wanted to see a tree get lit. She had no need for a reminder of what she’d never have.

\-----------

She couldn’t sleep that night, which did not surprise her. She’d been feeling an unpleasant combination of tense and restless all night, as though neither sitting still nor moving around could satisfy her. It was not a recipe for a good night’s sleep, Natasha knew.

She was also not surprised to see Clint sitting on the couch when she came out into the living room. She’d felt a similar sort of tension emanating off of him. It had been thick between them all night, only dissipating slightly when they went into their rooms. She felt it intensify as she made tea.

She brought him a cup, and he grunted his thanks, not taking his eyes off the TV. It was _Star Wars._ She knew he didn’t need to concentrate that hard, especially not with his aids in.

She sat down next to him, not quite as close as she had been lately. There was a good foot of space between them.

Clint took a sip of his tea, then placed it down on the coffee table without really looking, about two inches away from a coaster. And she snapped.

“Do you understand the function of a coaster?” She practically snarled as she reached over to move his cup.

He let out a long-suffering sigh, which infuriated her. “Relax, Jesus. It’s just a fucking cup.”

“No, it’s _not.”_ She could feel white-hot anger swelling rapidly inside her. She didn’t even care how illogical it was to fight over a cup, she was just _pissed._ Pissed at him, pissed at the announcer guy at the tree lighting, pissed at his soulmark, pissed at soulmates in general. Just pissed. “It’s everything, it’s all the time. You leave your shoes laying around the living room, and spread all these papers and shit all over the coffee table.” It was like a dam had burst. She kept listing stuff that hadn’t bothered her since about day one, just because she couldn’t seem to stop. “You leave your coat on the floor instead of the hooks and your hats on the sofa and I find your arrows _everywhere_ , why the fuck can’t you keep them in one place?”

“Well sorry,” he snapped, cutting her rant short. His blue eyes seemed to flash as he glared at her. “Sorry for not hiding away all the evidence of my existence like you do. God forbid there be some signs of life around here.”

Then he stood up and stormed back into his room, but closed the door quietly. Natasha wished he’d slammed it.

She felt some of her anger fade to be replaced by guilt. Clint never really got mad. She’d clearly hurt him with her outburst. Was that really what she did? Hide her existence away?

Looking around the living room she thought no, it couldn’t be. She had picture frames around… though not many. She did keep her things stowed away when she could, in the closet or in drawers. But that was just being neat.

Come to think of it, her adopted family had always made her and the other kids do that. They’d never been able to keep any things out in the open, not that they had a lot of normal kid things to begin with. The only signs that there were children in the house were the trophy and award case… the only things of theirs they’d been allowed to display. Evidence of their talents. 

She’d had almost no personal items in the foster system, but the few things she did have were kept tucked neatly away. She always just thought it was because it wasn’t a good idea to display stuff you owned in the group home, or it was liable to get stolen. But maybe it had something to do with three years of being taught to hide herself.

Frustrated, not wanting to analyze this anymore, Natasha grabbed a throw pillow from the couch and threw it across the room. She felt a vindictive sort of satisfaction when it thumped against the wall. She got up without clearing the cups on the coffee table, walked calmly into the kitchen, and grabbed a glass out of the cupboard, setting it down on the counter. There. Evidence of existence.

It wasn’t enough, though. Not really thinking, she swiped at the glass and let it fall and shatter on the floor. The anger inside her ebbed, but there were still a riot of feelings inside of her that she couldn’t identify.

“Tasha?”

She looked up from the shattered glass. Clint was standing just outside the kitchen archway, looking at her cautiously. _Tasha._ She’d never been called that before. 

 _It’s him,_ she thought. He was the reason she was so unsettled, the reason the announcement about soulmates had bothered her so much, the reason she got pissed about a stupid cup. She felt some odd connection to him, she had _feelings_ for him, like she could almost lo – like she cared about him and she wanted him and she couldn’t have him because of that stupid tattoo on his stomach.

She did not particularly want to express any of this to him. Instead, she grabbed another glass from the cupboard and tossed it to him. He caught it, stared at her for a while. He searched her eyes for something that he must have found, because he dropped the glass and let it shatter just like the other one.

“This is freeing,” she said, surprised at how steady her voice sounded.

Clint gave her a strange look, but nodded. “Yeah, it is. But it’s also glass, so we should probably clean it up,” he said gently.

They cleaned up in silence. Natasha was not sure how she felt. Part of her felt better, like the knot of tension between them had started to uncoil. But part of her felt exposed, raw; like she’d revealed a part of herself to Clint she wasn’t sure she wanted him to see.

After they cleaned up all the visible glass, the only light still coming from the TV in the living room and the street lamp outside, they stood facing each other. The exposed feeling intensified as she looked into is eyes, and she wondered if he could see the storm in hers.

Maybe he could because he took a step towards her and held his arms out, gently guiding her into a hug. She stiffened, but only slightly, before pillowing her head on his chest and letting his arms wrap around her. The fabric of his shirt was soft against her cheek and his arms were firm but gentle around her. She brought her arms up slowly to return the hug and closed her eyes.

Natasha wasn’t sure how long they stood there in each other’s arms, but it somehow felt like both a minute and an hour at the same time. He let go and stepped back, but remained in her personal space. She didn’t mind.

“We okay?” He asked gruffly. She nodded, feeling like a raw nerve still. Maybe he felt it too, though, because he brought his hand up to rub the back of his neck, looking the same kind of vulnerable she felt. He said goodnight, and she responded quietly. 

As she laid back in bed a minute later, she felt like she had definitely revealed part of herself she hadn’t meant to. She didn’t really understand it, but she actually felt better for it and actually managed to get some sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a little trouble with this chapter, so I hope it turned out alright! This chapter and the next one are mostly still developing their relationship, but after that shit is gonna start happening. 
> 
> Next time: Clint and Natasha go Christmas shopping, and Natasha worries her feelings are even stronger than she feared.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to stefaniegk, beneathground, PictureThis, bigbobsbeepers, Karolina94, m0th3rw4r, starrynightshade, and Da biggest fan of dis story for commenting on the last chapter! :)

Natasha loved having Clint as her roommate, despite the fact that her emotions sometimes got a little out of control around him. He was funny, kind, and smart even though he didn’t always act like it.

But she still missed Steve.

They talked almost every day, but it wasn’t the same as seeing him every day. So she was very happy tonight that she had invited herself over to his and Bucky’s apartment for dinner. Plus, it was nice to have a meal that didn’t come out of a box, a can, or a restaurant.

“So, have you met Sam’s soulmate yet?” Natasha asked before taking a bite of the stir-fry. It was really good. Maybe she could save some to take back to Clint later.

“No,” Bucky said. “He just met her yesterday. I’m sure we’ll all meet her at the same time.”

“Did he tell you how he met her? All I got was the text that said ‘omg I met her and she’s perf guys.’”

“Oh yeah, he did tell us that,” Steve said. “You know his mark said _‘Do you always dress like that?’_ And of course every year he volunteers at the Children’s Hospital for Christmas. Well this year he was volunteering as one of Santa’s elves. Then somehow he lost his change of clothes, I’m not sure how, and he had to go all the way home like that. Literally bumped into this lady on the subway and said ‘Excuse me.’ And she said his words. He says he nearly fainted, though he blamed the lack of circulation in the costume on that one.”

Natasha laughed. “I am surprised by none of that.”

“Especially not the volunteering part.” Bucky rolled his eyes fondly. “Making the rest of us jerks look bad.”

“So her mark was _‘Excuse me,’”_ she said thoughtfully. _“_ That’s fairly common. I wonder if she ever got any false alarms. Clint says he’s had like five or six so far.”

Steve and Bucky exchanged a glance at that and seemed to be repressing smiles. She gave them a curious look, but Bucky changed the subject and she let it go.

Once they had finished eating, Natasha leaned back in her chair with a happy groan.

“Dinner was to your satisfaction, then?”

“Yes, Steve, thank you. And you, Bucky.” She gave them a lazy smile. “Clint can’t cook either, so –“

“Oh, _Clint_ can’t cook, huh?” Bucky smirked.

“It’s been almost two minutes since she last brought him up, I’m impressed,” Steve said to Bucky with a shit-eating grin.

“What are you idiots going on about?” Natasha sighed.

“Oh, nothing.” Bucky shrugged. “Just your giant boner for Clint.”

“I do not –“

“You must have brought him up ten times since you got here,” Steve insisted. “I’ve never heard you talk this much about any one person.”

“I didn’t –“

“And the way you were flirting at the bar, and when we came over for movie night last week.”

“I was not –“

“Plus every time I text and ask what you’re doing, it’s always ‘hanging out with Clint’ or ‘watching _Dancing with the Stars_ with Clint’ or ‘Clint’s teaching me sign language.’” Steve ticked off the examples on his fingers.

“The only reason you’re even here tonight instead of with him is because Stark dragged him out for a boy’s night,” Bucky said.

Natasha didn’t even bother trying to defend herself against that one, though she felt a blush creeping up her neck. God, had she been that obvious? She’d really thought she was being more subtle lately. Plus, she had thought the reason she hadn’t seen Steve and Bucky quite as often lately was because she wanted to give the two soulmates their privacy. But maybe it had been a little more her fault than she realized.

“Plus,” Bucky added. “When was the last time you went out to get laid? It has to have been well over a month now.”

She realized with a jolt that he was right. She hadn’t felt the desire to go out and have a one night stand since… since Clint moved in. Thinking about it now, she still had no desire to have sex with anyone. Anyone but Clint. 

“You totally have a crush on him,” Steve informed her. “I remember when I had a crush on that girl in college and you teased me.”

“I don’t have a crush,” Natasha said firmly. “We’re just friends, okay? Close friends, even. And I don’t get crushes because, unlike you Rogers, I understand that nothing could ever come of it.” She swallowed hard. “He has his soulmark. I don’t. End of story.”

That sounded a little too much like ‘reasons I can’t like Clint’ rather than ‘reasons I don’t like Clint.’ Steve and Bucky may have caught onto this, because they exchanged another one of their glances, this time less teasing and more serious. So she changed the subject.

“Steve, you promised you’d tell me how you got that bruise on your arm.”

Thankfully, this worked because if there was one thing that set Bucky Barnes off, it was Steve getting injured on the job. She got the story of Steve’s injury mostly from Bucky, who was irritated with and proud of his soulmate in equal measures for getting hurt while chasing a suspect.

They were re-hashing some of Steve’s most heroic and/or idiotic injuries when her phone buzzed.

_Clint: You know what we need to do? Go Christmas shopping. What's a good day for you?_

_Natasha: Wednesday is my earliest, I get off at 5:00._

_Clint: Awesome! I’ll get Kate to take my place at work for the last hour so we have maximum shopping time._

_Natasha: Fantastic. We can spend the entire evening buying overpriced shit no one needs._

_Clint: That’s the spirit._

“That Clint?” Steve asked. 

“Bet your face doesn’t light up like that when _I_ text you.” Bucky smirked.

“Oh, shut up.”

\-------------

On Wednesday, Natasha was in her studio packing everything up for the night when she heard a knock on the door. She glanced around the room, figuring maybe Wanda and Pietro, who had just left a minute ago, had forgotten something. 

Clint was the last person she was expecting to see on the other side of the door. He was grinning, but his eyes bugged out a little when he saw her and he visibly swallowed. Natasha repressed a smirk; she was still wearing her leotard.

“What are you doing here?” She let him in. They were going shopping today, but they had planned to meet at their apartment in half an hour. He’d never come to the studio before.

“It was slow at the shelter, so I let Kate take over a little earlier. Decided to come meet you here, save you the trip up town,” he explained, slowly turning as he examined the studio. It was mostly one large dance floor with bars and mirrors, and two changing rooms in the back. But she loved it, and the smile Clint gave her when he completed his inspection seemed proud… of her? For her? She wasn’t sure.

Then Clint gave her a not-very-subtle once over and he rubbed the back of his neck, determinedly turning his eyes away. Natasha knew a leotard didn’t exactly leave much to the imagination, and Clint had clearly noticed. She debated teasing him by finding some excuse to bend over but that sounded too much like flirting.

“Let me just get changed,” she said. “Then we can go.”

He nodded, eyes darting around the room at anything but her. She repressed a smug grin; it was nice to know she could have the same effect on him that he had on her whenever she saw him shirtless. Maybe she’d start wearing the leotard when she practiced in the living room, see how much she could make him blush.

He was visibly relieved when she walked out in her normal clothes and they left for the mall. 

Clint had a much easier time Christmas shopping than she did. Steve, Bucky, and Pepper were impossible to find things for. Steve gave such thoughtful presents that she always felt like she came up short in comparison; Bucky had very few material wants; and Pepper was engaged to the richest man in the city – there was not a lot she wanted that Tony wouldn’t have delivered to their doorstep.

In irritating contrast, most of the people Clint needed to shop for were easy, excepting aforementioned richest man in the city. He had already gotten an ugly holiday sweater for Phil, explaining that this was what they got each other every year. And he’d found about three things for Thor so far, as apparently you could buy that man a Pop-Tart as a gift and he’d be satisfied. And so far, she had nothing.

“Ugh,” she grunted as they left the sixth store and re-entered the bustling mall. “I’m never going to find anything.”

“Patience, Padawan,” Clint said, grabbing her shoulders with both hands and giving a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m going to cut your arm off if you call me a Padawan again.”

“Patience, terrifying Jedi master.” 

“That’s better.”

“You’ll find stuff. There’s at least a hundred stores here.” He gestured grandly with one arm as though he was showing her the Chocolate Factory. “Think of the possibilities.”

“Your optimism is draining my life force.”

He just laughed.

“So,” she asked as they wandered into a girly accessory store in the hopes of finding something for Pepper. “What do you want for Christmas?”

“I can’t _tell_ you,” Clint said with an exaggerated eye roll. “That’s not how it works. You have to pick it out yourself.”

Natasha sighed. “Steve says that, too.” Bucky had been more than happy to request flavored condoms, though, which she was absolutely going to get them. If only to see the epic shade of red Steve would turn when they opened them.

“I already have something for you,” Clint bragged, trailing her around the store, only occasionally getting distracted by something shiny.

“Show-off,” she muttered. Then she grabbed a floppy beach hat off of a shelf and held it out to him. “Think Pepper might like this?”

He scrutinized it. “Well, you know her much better. But I doubt it,” he said. “She never really struck me as a hat person. _You,_ on the other hand…” He trailed off, grabbing the hat out of her hands and thrusting it onto her head. “Oh, yes.” He was clearly holding in a laugh. “This is for you.”

“I don’t think so,” Natasha said, taking the hat off. “Maybe I’ll get it for you, if you’re so fond.” And she stood up on her tip-toes to yank the hat down over his eyes.

He laughed softly, and pushed the hat up far enough that he could see. Natasha swallowed nervously – they had ended up standing very close together. She wasn’t wearing heels, so she had to tilt her neck to look up at him. He was still wearing the hat and looked absolutely ridiculous, but those eyes and the way he was smiling at her… so softly, fondly, kindly… dare she say affectionately?

She took a quick step back and tore her eyes away from his. “So, uh… you met your soulmate yet?”

_That’s it,_ she thought. _Remind yourself why you can’t look at him that way. And why he couldn’t have been looking at you that way._

He slowly removed the hat and placed it back onto the shelf before turning to look at her again. Why did his eyes have to be so blue? They made her ache.

“I guess not,” he finally answered in an unreadable tone. She turned away, going back to her browsing.

She did eventually find presents for people, though it took two hours and most of the stores at the mall. On the walk home, they passed a tent selling Christmas trees and Clint tried to tug her towards it.

“The most important part!” He said.

“No,” Natasha said, firmly resisting his tugging. He grabbed onto her arm like a toddler begging for candy, but she was unmoved. “I am not dragging a tree through the street. Or squeezing it into a cab.”

“Aaw, come on!” He whined. “Even if I didn’t like Christmas much, we always at least had a tree.” She remained unimpressed, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. Clint sighed. “Fine, Scrooge. You don’t have to help get the tree. But I _am_ going to get one. You won’t know when, but when you least expect it – Bam! There’s going to be a tree in the living room, and we are going to decorate the shit out of it.”

“Nice speech,” Natasha said wryly. But she didn’t protest this plan. She didn’t care much as long as she didn’t have to lug the thing around.

They started walking again and Clint let go of her arm. But they remained close enough that their hands occasionally brushed together through their gloves as they walked, sending odd little jolts of warmth up her arm. She held back a smile, but couldn’t contain the pink she knew to be tinting her cheeks.

But she could blame that on the cold.

\--------------

Natasha had been helping Pepper with the wedding plans ever since the engagement. Well, Pepper called it helping. What she was really doing was nodding along with everything Pepper said. The truth was, Natasha wasn’t into the wedding planning at all, but Pepper was her friend. And she did like looking at the fancy dresses – she could admit to having expensive taste when it came to clothing.

They were looking at dresses today, and that was the reason they were sitting in Natasha’s kitchen instead of Pepper and Stark’s mansion. Apparently, Pepper was going to be very traditional when it came to the groom not even seeing the dress _options_ before the wedding.

They had been flipping through pages of magazines for almost an hour by the time Clint finally emerged from his room, slipping his aids in. He put on the coffee before he spoke a word.

“Why are you doing this so early? On a _Sunday?”_ Like that made it an especially grievous sin.

“Not everyone’s day starts at noon, Barton.”

Clint grumbled and walked into the living room. He plopped on the couch, still facing them. “They should on a weekend.”

Pepper grinned at her and whispered, “Does he always walk around shirtless?”

Natasha swatted her arm, but allowed herself a smirk. “Yes.”

Clint raised his hands to sign at her, _‘What are you girls talking about?’_

_‘You, of course,’_ Natasha signed back, figuring he’d think she was joking.

He signed something back she didn’t recognize, one hand waving back and forth against the index finger of his other. “I don’t know that one,” she told him.

“I’m flattered,” he said, repeating the sign. Natasha repeated it back, learning the movement.

“Oh, god.” Pepper groaned. “You’re learning sign language? Now you’re going to have a secret code.”

“She learns quickly,” Clint said.

“I’ve always been good with languages,” she said with a half shrug. “I should teach you Russian one day.”

Clint got a phone call before he could answer, and Pepper and Natasha went back to looking at dresses.

“That’s too big,” Pepper muttered.

“Tony would like that one.” Natasha pointed to one whose neckline went down to the belly button. Pepper scoffed.

Clint had disappeared into his room with his phone, but now came jogging out, fully dressed. He stopped in the kitchen long enough to down a cup of coffee. “I gotta go pick up a dog in Poughkeepsie,” he explained. “I’ll be gone all day. Try not to miss me too much.”

“We’re tough girls,” Pepper said stoically.

Clint caught Natasha’s eye with an evil grin and signed, _‘Go ahead, keep talking about me shirtless.’_

Her face heated up. He heard that?

He grinned. “Pepper is easy to lip read.” Then he was gone.

“What was he talking about?” Pepper asked.

“Nothing,” Natasha waved her question off. And distracted her with dress choices. “What about this one?”

She had something she wanted to ask Pepper. All through the morning, she’d been waiting for the right opportunity to present itself, and now she was wishing she had asked sooner. She was worried the fact that they’d just interacted with Clint would make Pepper realize the question had to do with him.

So she kept waiting, through seven magazines and lunch, which they ordered in. If she could just find a natural segue into the topic.

“By the way,” Pepper started, twirling noodles around her fork. “Tony and I are going to Malibu on Christmas, but we’re still having our Christmas Eve party. You’re coming, right?”

“Of course. I got Tony’s invitation, which stated it was mandatory for all people who wanted to remain in either of your friendship circles.”

Pepper rolled her eyes fondly. “He was 90% kidding.”

“That’s reassuring.” She waited a beat, considering. Then decided this was probably the most natural segue she was going to get. “Speaking of Tony. I wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“How... what does it feel like?”

Pepper gave her a well-practiced look of patient confusion. “What does what feel like?”

“Being in love.”

Pepper’s eyebrows shot up. “I – _why?_ Did you get your mark?” Her eyes scanned over visible skin, as if she may have missed it.

Natasha shook her head. “No, no. I was just wondering in case I ever do get my soulmark. I wanted to know what it feels like. If it’s all everyone seems to think it is.”

Pepper didn’t look like she was quite buying it, but said anyway, “It’s a little hard to describe. Um… well, I’ll put it this way. When you first start feeling it, it’s kind of like a riot is going on in your stomach and chest. Like your organs are throwing a rave.”

“So… nausea?”

Pepper laughed. “Sort of like nausea. But in a good way. There are other symptoms, too. Emotional ones, mostly, like things that might otherwise annoy you sort of make you want to hug him. Like when Tony accidentally set that park bench on fire. I was annoyed, but also everything he does kind of endears me to him at the same time. And he became my reference point for a lot of things, you know? Like I see something on the news and wonder what Tony would think of it.” She let out a deep sigh, really getting wistful now. “And seeing him again after being apart, even just for a few hours, feels like coming home.”

Natasha was definitely feeling a little nauseous now. What Pepper was describing did not sound as unfamiliar as she would have liked.

“Sorry, I was getting sappy,” Pepper said with a little laugh.

“No… no problem,” Natasha said, trying to maintain her cool. “Anyway, I uh… I distracted us. Let’s get to narrowing down these dresses, huh?”

She put her head down to the magazines, resolutely refusing to look at Pepper. So if the other woman was giving her a curious look, Natasha did not see it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Shit happens.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, shit finally happens in this chapter. Though it's probably not exactly the shit a lot of you are so worried about. 
> 
> You guys are really bringing it with the comments. Thanks SO much to Da+biggest+fan+of+dis+story, avengedbarnes, Bruh, zombie_socks, PlumisNoctis, ARussian, stefaniegk, PictureThis, Karolina94, CloudAtlas, nathanielbarton, RandomFangirl, CandyBooks, Amie, Shatter Me, starrynightshade, and Amictia09 for commenting on the last chapter!

They were two weeks away from Christmas when Clint made good on his tree threat. She came home one night, and as promised – Bam! There was a tree in her living room, so tall it almost touched the ceiling. The whole scene came complete with Christmas music playing, bags full of lights and ornaments on the floor, and a grinning Clint in a Santa hat standing in front of it all.

“Ta-da!” 

“You told Steve and Bucky to invite me over tonight, didn’t you? So I would be out of the apartment when Christmas threw up in it.”

Clint did not look the least bit chagrined at being caught. “Sure did. They were willing co-conspirators. Come here!” He waved her over, and she somewhat reluctantly approached. “I want to take a picture to send to them.”

Natasha crossed her arms and glared as Clint took out his phone. “Don’t suppose you’d put on the Santa hat? Yeah, didn’t think so. Say cheese.” She continued to glare, and Clint took the picture anyway. “Beautiful. The camera loves you.”

Their first task, after the photoshoot, was to unravel the long strings of lights and wrap them around the tree. Natasha had never done this – Steve had a fake tree with lights built into it, because the pine needles of a real tree made him sneeze. There was a large amount of weaving involved in putting on the lights. It was irritating. She told Clint this.

“Almost there!” He said enthusiastically, stretching up to reach the top. And okay, she had to admit his enthusiasm was pretty cute. Plus his shirt raised up when he stretched.  

“Jesus, Barton, how many ornaments did you buy?” She dug out box after box of ball ornaments, along with some less generic ones. “Is that… Spongebob?”

He didn’t look at all embarrassed. “Hell yes. Patrick, Squidward, and Sandy are in there too.”

“Of course they are.”

“You got a problem with Spongebob?”

“No, no.” She held her hands up in surrender. “I just wasn’t expecting this much… enthusiasm. I was under the impression you didn’t like Christmas.”

“It’s not that I dislike it,” he said contemplatively, hanging a reindeer ornament. “It’s just… bad memories and disappointments associated with it. But I always enjoyed the build up to Christmas; the music and the movies and the decorations. I’ve just learned not to expect that much from the holiday itself.”

“I can understand that,” Natasha admitted. “And this isn’t so bad, I guess.” She gestured to the tree, half covered in ornaments by now. She had hung only five of them, as she took her time to pick out the best spot while Clint just hung them anywhere.

She picked out a perfect spot for a snowflake ornament. It was high up, so she had to stand on her toes to reach it. She looked back at Clint, expecting a crack about her height, but he was just looking at her with a soft, almost wistful smile on his face which she couldn’t help returning.

_Stop,_ she thought. _Stop looking at him like that. And make him stop smiling at me like that, all… tenderly._

“You could put a little more thought into your ornament placement.”

“I do,” he said. “I just make split second calculations. But we can’t all be math geniuses.” She made sure he could see her dramatic eye roll.

They moved around each other as they put up the rest of the ornaments. Natasha remembered back when they first started rooming together, they could easily avoid each other’s space. They’d give each other room when they sat together on the couch or the counter, leave space between them in the kitchen, skirt each other at the doorway. Gradually, as they’d grown into friends, the space between them had lessened until casual touches were frequent and they nudged shoulders as they walked past each other or stood closer together in the kitchen. 

Now, though, the space between them seemed practically nonexistent. Their fingers brushed together as she handed him an ornament, their sides touched as they dug through the bag for more, she accidentally bumped into him as they moved around the tree. And there were more deliberate touches too; he nudged her hip out of his way, she tugged his Santa hat in retaliation. After they’d hung all the ornaments, he rubbed her back for a moment while they stood admiring their work and she couldn’t help but lean into his touch. That something inside her chest was burning again.

“Now for the tinsel!” Clint said excitedly, pulling out a package of the silvery string from one of the bags.

“Oh, _god.”_ Natasha groaned. “Do we have to? That stuff makes such a mess.”

“Of course we have to! Tinsel is essential. I’ll vacuum up after we take the tree down, I promise.”

“We can _smother_ the tree in tinsel if you can tell me where we keep the vacuum.”

He winced. “Uh… under the sink?”

“How would it fit – never mind.” She rolled her eyes. Clint pouted, jutting out his lower lip and looking like he invented puppy dog eyes. “Fine, fine.”

He cheered, ripping open the package so quickly that strands of tinsel flew out around him, slowly floating down to the floor. He looked at her guiltily. “I’ll clean that up.”

“Sure.” She couldn’t help but laugh, and his answering smile was well worth the mess.

She’d expected him to be as haphazard with his tinsel placement as with the ornaments, but he surprised her by being very careful to extract a small amount of the strands and hanging them delicately around the tree. Apparently he did take his tinsel very seriously.

“Steve told me tinsel is supposed to represent icicles,” she said while they worked.

“I heard that,” Clint said. “But there was this story my mom always used to tell us about it. The Golden Spider, I think it was called.”

He paused and Natasha waited, not wanting to push him. She could count on one hand the number of times he’d talked about his childhood. It was even rarer that he did so without sounding bitter or sad. She looked at him curiously and he continued.

“She always used to tell it on Christmas Eve, because my dad was usually passed out by then. She said there was a group of spiders living in some lady's attic and they wanted to see Santa Claus when he came to put presents under the tree. So they climbed down from the attic and hid in the tree, leaving trails of their webs all over it. When Santa came and saw that, he was afraid the woman who lived there would be upset by the apparent mess on her tree, so he turned the webs into silver. And that’s why we hang tinsel on Christmas trees.” He shrugged. “There was more to it than that, but that’s all I can remember.”

“It’s a sweet story,” Natasha said quietly. She reached over to gently rub his arm. He captured her hand in his, giving it a little squeeze. He smiled. There was soft Christmas music playing and they were standing in front of a tree they’d just decorated and he was smiling at her like that. It was all she could do not to kiss him.

She took a step back, releasing his arm and turning towards the tree. “It looks good.”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed, his voice perhaps a little deeper than usual. “Hang on, we gotta get the full effect.”

He turned off the lights so that the living room was dark, then plugged in the tree lights so they were the only thing illuminating the room. She had to admit, it was beautiful.  

He stepped back from the tree to join her in admiring it from across the room. “And there you go. Our very own Christmas tree.” He swung his arm around her shoulder and squeezed.

She did her best not to tense up but _fuck,_ his arm was wrapped around her and she was pressed up against his side and he was wearing that Santa hat that made him look so goofy and cute. And he was grinning, a face-crinkling grin that made her insides warm.

“Oh my god!” Clint yelled suddenly, removing his arm. She told herself she did _not_ feel colder from the loss, and stared curiously at Clint’s outburst. “I forgot the star! That’s the most important part!”

He ran into his room so quickly Natasha half expected to see a cartoon puff of air where he’d been standing. She wasn’t sure if she was meant to follow him in, but when a sudden, pained yell came from his room she went in anyway.

She found him hopping around on one foot, an upended box laying on the floor near him, apparently having fallen from the closet. He put his foot down when he saw her and smiled sheepishly. “Ow.”

“I can’t leave you alone for three seconds.”

“Box had it in for me,” he muttered, bending down to turn it back over and sift through its contents.

“So you have a star but you had to buy all the ornaments?”

“Phil gave it to me,” he explained. “And I know I packed it up somewhere.”

While he searched, occasionally cursing under his breath, Natasha glanced around the room. She’d only been in here at Thanksgiving and hadn’t really looked around. It was messy, which was no surprise. Clothes were strewn all over the floor, including what looked like a pair of _Star Wars_ boxers, which made her smile.

A small cluster of picture frames on the dresser caught her eye and she took a couple of steps towards it. There was one of Clint and Tony mid-laugh, faces red. They were each holding a glass of what looked like whiskey. Another of him and Thor, flexing and making intimidating faces which were ruined by their grins. Another of him and an older man she didn’t recognize. Given that they were surrounded by several cats and dogs, she assumed this was Phil.

But it was the fourth picture that made her breath stutter. Apparently, she had made it onto Clint Barton’s important people list; it was the picture he had taken at the Rockefeller tree lighting. Their heads were leaning together and Clint’s smile was large and sincere. Her smile was smaller but no less real. They looked good together. She just couldn’t believe he’d printed this out and framed it. That nauseous feeling Pepper had described was coming back to her.

She was dimly aware of Clint speaking but wasn’t paying attention until she felt him come up right behind her. She slowly turned around to face him.

He was standing close, and she could see the flush creeping up his neck. He was eyeing her nervously. “I, uh… I liked that picture.”

She honestly couldn’t think of a thing to say, could barely even remember how to form words. Everything she’d been feeling for the past few weeks, for the past month – hell, since the moment she met him – came crashing through her at once, like she could no longer keep it in. She registered his eyes flicking down to her lips and officially surrendered.

She leaned in, he leaned down, and her lips brushed against his.

The fire that burned in her chest for him suddenly spread lower, pooling like liquid heat in her abdomen. She couldn’t help the small moan that released from her throat and deepened the kiss. His hand tangled in her hair, hers fisted in the back of his shirt, the kiss quickly turning desperate. One of his hands came around to the side of her face, thumb stroking over her cheek in a moment of tenderness that contrasted the frantic kiss and she sighed into his mouth. 

She took a step back, dragging Clint with her, and they fell back onto the bed. Natasha felt more heat rush through her with his weight pressing her into the sheets, like every cell in her body was crying out for him. She gripped the hair at the back of his neck, hooked her legs over his hips, arched her back up; the only conscious thought in her mind was _Must. Get. Closer._

Somewhere in the back of her mind was the dim feeling that they shouldn’t be doing this; it was a bad idea for any number of reasons - number one being how she felt about him and how this was only going to make things so much worse.

But she could hardly bring herself to care because he was nipping at her lower lip and her hands were under his shirt, racing over the hard muscles that she had so long admired from afar. Maybe she would regret it in the morning but right now she didn’t have any more control over this than she had over the sun or the moon.

Natasha yanked at his shirt until he got the hint, and they pulled apart so she could slip it over his head, hers quickly following and _finally_ there was skin on skin. She was a little surprised by how quickly Clint had revved her up but he seemed to be feeling the same; she could practically see her reflection in his eyes they were so dark.

He dipped his head to lay kisses against her neck and she tilted her head back to let him.

“Tash,” he muttered into her skin. “Tasha.”

She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to respond, so she ran her hand through his hair, lightly scraping her nails against his scalp to elicit a low groan from him, and whispered, “Clint.”

He slipped one bra strap down so he could continue his path along her collar bone. Her skin burned where his lips touched her. She reached around behind her back to unhook her bra and he lifted up enough to let her remove it. He glanced down and made a strangled noise in the back of his throat before lifting his eyes back to hers. She couldn’t deal with anything she was seeing in them at the moment so she lifted her head up to fasten her lips to his neck.

He cursed under his breath and turned his head to capture her mouth in a kiss that left them breathless. She tightened her legs around his hips and rubbed against him, feeling how hard he was already. Nice to know he was as turned on as she was.

He laid a line of kisses down her sternum, avoiding her breasts and frustrating the hell out of her. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he said, voice muffled against her skin. Her already racing heart beat against her ribs even faster. He needed to stop talking. His words were forcing her to think and if she was forced to think she would have to remember why they shouldn’t be doing this.

Natasha used the hand that was buried in his hair to tug him up to her mouth. That quieted him for a minute until they pulled apart for air. His lips went to her neck again, one hand dancing lightly up her side, and she reached up to gently bite his earlobe.

And then he panted hoarsely against her neck, “God, Tasha, I love you.”

She froze momentarily then shot up, shoving him none-too-gently off of her and cursing loudly. “Fuck. Shit, Clint, we can’t do this.” She shrugged back into her bra and hunted around the floor for her shirt. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He hadn’t said anything and she risked a glance back at him. Big mistake. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hair mussed, stubbornly shirtless. She could see hints of her lipstick on his mouth and smudged against his neck. And the way he was looking at her nearly killed her; confused, aroused, and – _fuck –_ some emotion she could really only call loving.

“Why?” He asked.

“You know why,” she whispered, looking away again. She finally located her shirt and put it on.

“Because of this stupid fucking tattoo on my stomach?” She could hear the frustration in his voice.

“Yes! Because of the stupid fucking tattoo. You’re going to meet your soulmate soon and –“

“I don’t care!” He yelled. Her eyes blew wide in surprise. She’d heard him yell exactly once before. “I don’t care about some person I’ve never even met! Dammit, Nat.” He ran his hand through his hair, standing up. “I love _you.”_

“Clint,” she said, voice breaking. Moisture welled in her eyes and she bit her lip to keep any tears at bay. “Stop saying that.”

“Why?” He was really frustrated now, with her or with the world she wasn’t sure – probably both. “I do. I love you. I don’t care about my soulmark, _I don’t care._ I’ll have the fucking thing surgically removed. I just want you.”

His eyes were pleading, hands fisted at his side. He looked desperate to get closer to her but gave her space, for which she was grateful. She couldn’t say what she knew she had to say if he was in her space. It was difficult enough as it was. He was so tempting.

He was offering exactly what she had been afraid to admit to herself she wanted. But she couldn’t do that to him. Because yes, they would be happy for a while, for weeks or months if she was lucky. But eventually he would meet his soulmate. And whatever he’d feel for that person would have to be stronger than what he felt for her, even though her own feelings for him were so strong she felt as though she were choking on them. Then he’d either leave her for his soulmate or stay with her out of obligation and grow to resent her.

She could not live with either option.

“I can’t –“ her voice was still choked. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes again because his face was slowly killing her. “I can’t do this.”

“Tasha –“

“I can’t,” she repeated. “I just can’t.”

Refusing to look back, she strode from his room and all but sprinted for her own door. She closed it behind her and sank back against it, finally letting the tears fall.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: The aftermath.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are officially spoiling me with comments! Thanks to daughterofrohan, Bunnywest, Shatter+Me, Da biggest fan of dis story, RandomFangirl, beneathground, PanicMoon15, zombie_socks, Bruh, bigbobsbeepers, nathanielbarton, PlumisNoctis, les_tveiterables, stefaniegk, starrynightshade, avengedbarnes, Supercatural98, Karolina94, Amie, marvel_grl, m0th3rw4r, CandyBooks, Tiresias, ARussian, agentsofpuppies, Curlyhairedkatniss, Maddy, SAJBlom, maara, and Bluesy_Deth for your amazing comments on the last chapter!

Natasha had never considered herself to be a cowardly person. She faced every difficulty she’d ever come across with a stoicism she thought to be inherited from Russia. But with this, handling the situation with Clint, she should be living on a farm somewhere because she was an absolute chicken.

She avoided him, plain and simple. She left before he woke up every morning and she never came home before midnight, hiding out at Steve and Bucky’s when she wasn't at work. She’d be gone the entire day, and even though the last thing she wanted was to have to face him, she always came home half terrified that he’d have moved out while she was gone. But his stuff was always there – pairs of shoes by the door, bow and quiver in the hall closet. He’d suddenly stopped leaving his stuff laying around, which she noticed with an odd sense of dismay.

She was afraid of him, longed for him, and felt weak for being unable to face him. But if she saw him, he would probably look at her with love and longing and pain written on his face and it would be like giving him up all over again. 

But maybe he was a little weak too, because no matter how late she came home he always came home later. She’d be unable to sleep until she knew he was there. She laid awake, sometimes for hours, sometimes with silent tears pooling in her hair, until she heard the door creak open and his coat rustle softly as he hung it up.

The knowledge that he was home both soothed and distressed her; both calmed her and made the pit of her stomach clench and ache. How could his presence give her such contrasting feelings? It was unsettling.

So she hid.

Steve and Bucky put up with her sullen company as she knew they would. One look at her red-rimmed eyes and Steve had pulled up _Titanic_ for her. In response to the same, Bucky brought her a glass of wine. They plied her with food and she’d never felt less hungry in her life but she ate some of it anyway.

Neither of them asked her what happened.

At least, not for the first few days.

Four days after The Kiss, Natasha was curled up in Steve and Bucky’s arm chair. The couch was comfier, but the couch also had a view of their Christmas tree, and every time she saw a Christmas tree now she felt sick. Which was irritating as they were pretty hard to escape this time of year. She was watching TV but not really paying attention, studiously ignoring the fact that Steve and Bucky were staring at her and having a whispered argument from the kitchen. She couldn’t hear what they were saying but braced herself anyway. She’d been expecting this.

“That’s it,” Bucky said, throwing his hands up and stalking towards her from the kitchen. “Natasha, what the hell is going on with you?”

“What Bucky _means,”_ Steve practically growled, coming over and pulling Bucky down on the couch so they could look at her without standing over her. “Is we’d like to know what’s upset you so we can help.”

“You can’t help,” Natasha said tonelessly. “It’s unfixable.”

“Nothing is unfixable, Nat,” Steve assured her. Natasha actually smiled a little at Steve and his unwavering optimism.

“Come on,” Bucky chimed in. “We’ve let you wallow, but now it’s time for you to tell us.”

She briefly considered lying, or at least downplaying what happened, but dismissed that option quickly. Not only could Steve usually tell when she was lying, she also hated lying to him in the first place.

So she took a deep breath and told them everything – how she’d gradually realized what she felt for Clint went beyond friendship, how she suspected he felt the same, and how it all came to a head when they decorated the Christmas tree. She told them that he wanted to be with her, despite already being marked for another. She did not tell them that it took all the strength she had to say no. She told them that she hadn’t seen him since that night. She did not tell them that she felt his absence like a physical ache, like a gaping wound in her chest that bled every time she thought about it.

She told them that he said he loved her. She did not tell them that she loved him too.

She didn’t have to.

“C’mere.” Bucky scooted away from Steve so that there was a space between their bodies, and Natasha barely hesitated before inserting herself into it. “You can’t be the only person who’s ever fallen in love with someone who’s not their soulmate.”

“Maybe not.” Natasha shrugged, closing her eyes and leaning back against the couch. “But what can I do? What can other people have possibly done? He’s going to meet his soulmate soon and forget all about me.”

“You are anything but forgettable, Natasha,” Steve said.

“Still,” she insisted. “Can you deny it? That what you feel for a soulmate totally trumps whatever you feel for someone else?”

She opened her eyes to see the pained look Steve and Bucky exchanged and knew they couldn’t tell her anything she’d want to hear.

“No,” Bucky whispered. “It is… all consuming.”

She felt pretty consumed. She felt everything Pepper said her love for Tony felt like. Maybe since she didn’t have a soulmate this was the closest she would ever feel to that kind of love. She wanted to keep it more than anything; she wanted to go to Clint and kiss him again and tell him she loved him and let everything that was trapped in her heart spill out. But she couldn’t. Because even if she did not have a soulmate, Clint did, and he would have a chance to feel something even more than what he felt for her right now. She couldn't deny him that. 

“Sam is a therapist, you know,” Steve said. “He could probably help you better than we can.”

“I don’t need therapy.” Natasha sighed. “I just need the universe to quit tempting me with what I can’t have.”

Her best friends, apparently having nothing to say to that, squeezed her a little tighter. And even though they had offered no solutions to her problem, their comforting presence was enough to make her feel a bit better. If only for a moment.

\-----------

She was walking to Steve and Bucky’s from work one day when she saw them in a store window: a collection of antique copper wall hangings shaped like dogs. They were small and chipped in places, but they were beautiful and Clint would love them. She stood outside the window for a few minutes just staring at them. She had no idea if they would be speaking again by Christmas.

She bought them anyway.

\-----------

By the time Tony and Pepper’s Christmas Eve party rolled around, Natasha had managed to only see Clint one time. He’d come home one night only moments after her, and she was still in the living room when the door opened. They stared at each other silently before she retreated to her room. 

She fully expected to see him at the party, though, and wasn’t even terribly bothered by the idea. Yes, she had done everything in her power to avoid seeing him for the past two weeks, and yes, the one run-in they did have was awkward and left her feeling unsettled for hours. But it wasn’t as if she never wanted to see him again. The thought of not seeing him at all made her ache more than the thought that she couldn’t be with him. She’d rather have him as a friend than nothing at all, and she hoped that once the initial awkwardness and avoidance was over they could go back to some semblance of the way things used to be.

As it was, she was an hour into the party before she saw him.

Tony and Pepper knew how to throw a party, and one of the top floors of Stark Tower was full of lively music, an open bar, waiters handing out small pieces of foreign food, and more people than she thought this floor should be able to hold.

“I think this is the first Stark party I’ve been to that didn’t involve any robots.”

Pepper laughed. “Yes, thankfully we’ve learned from last time.” She glanced over to where Tony was the center of attention in a large group. “I have banned all robots from the party floor. And a five drink limit for Tony.”

“Good call.” Natasha looked around, trying to subtly search the party for a familiar face.

“Looking for Clint?” Pepper asked. “I know he’s around here somewhere. By the way, why didn’t you just come together?”

Natasha was saved from answering by a crash from the other end of the room. It looked like Tony had knocked something expensive over.

“Dammit,” Pepper mumbled. “Gotta go.” She grabbed a flute of Champagne from a passing waitress and tossed it back as she walked quickly towards her soulmate. 

Natasha sighed, absently sipping her drink. How long did she have to stay there to be polite? Probably at least another hour.

She liked parties, but only if she had friends with her. And Pepper and Tony were the only people she really knew there. She allowed herself one painful moment to think about how much fun she and Clint could have had if they’d come to this thing together.

She put on her party face for a while and talked to some strangers, but her heart wasn’t in it. Her heart was nowhere near any of this. So she extricated herself from a boring conversation and made her way towards the prep area the waiters kept coming in and out of. She figured she could hide out there for the duration of the party.

She was almost there when she finally ran into him.

The first thing she noticed was that he was in a tux, which shouldn’t have surprised her – it was a fancy party, and she herself was in a gown. But she had never seen him dress up before. She found that Clint in a tux was almost as enticing to her as Clint with no shirt. Those shoulders in formal wear… practically a sin.

The second thing she noticed was that he was coming right out of the area where she’d been heading towards. Maybe he’d been trying to hide from the party too.

The third was that he was looking at her like he was a dying man and she was his every hope of salvation.

“Natasha,” he choked out. “I – you look – hi.”

“Hi, Clint,” she said quietly. The first words they’d spoken to each other in almost two weeks. “Nice tux.”

“Tony made me,” he said, a ghost of a smirk crossing his lips. “Couldn’t have me lurking around in jeans and a band T-shirt.”

God, she had missed him. She hadn’t known until this moment how much she had truly missed him.

Apparently either reading her mind or following his own train of thought to the same destination, he said, “I’ve missed you,” in a gruff voice, longing written plainly on his face.

She was about to respond – how, she didn’t know –when their host’s voice suddenly joined them, yelling, “Clint! _There_ you are!” 

Tony and Pepper were headed towards them, but stopped a few yards away, Tony suddenly looking positively gleeful. Natasha was familiar enough with him to know that probably boded ill.

“My, my,” he said, smirking. “Looks like you two are caught under a little tradition.” He pointed up.

Natasha followed his finger and her heart dropped into her stomach. Mistletoe. 

Clint looked as panicked as she felt. She could hear Tony urging them to kiss, and could feel the stares of dozens of curious party-goers around them. She wanted to kiss him, but knew she shouldn’t. Right? It _was_ tradition, though. It might be weirder if they didn’t kiss.

Clint signed to her, _‘We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.’_

But she’d pretty much already made her decision.

She was wearing high heels, so she barely had to stretch up to meet his lips. She kissed him for only a moment, and felt him return it, before realizing that even though she’d only done this once before she had already missed it.

She broke away swiftly, looked into his eyes just long enough to see the familiar yearning in them, and ran out of the room.

She made it all the way down to the lobby and out the front doors when the rush of cold air made her realize she’d forgotten her coat. She was debating the relative pros and cons of freezing to death versus going back to the party when Pepper came out, wrapped up in her own coat, and handed Natasha hers.

Pepper was the best. “Thanks,” Natasha said, slipping on the long coat. Pepper just nodded. Natasha expected her to go back inside, but she just gestured for Natasha to lead the way.

They walked in silence for a few minutes before Pepper finally said, “I’m sorry Tony put you on the spot like that. He felt bad after you ran.”

Natasha shrugged, hoping that indicated forgiveness.

“Why did you run?” Pepper asked the question quietly, probably so Natasha could ignore it if she wanted to. It was for that reason that she decided to tell her.

“I love him.”

“Oh… _oh._ Oh, Natasha.”

Pepper reached over and patted her shoulder, then quickly stuffed her hand back into her coat pocket.

“You’re cold,” Natasha pointed out. “You should go back to the party.”

“Only if you get a cab to take you home.”

Fine with her. “Okay. It can take you back to the Tower, too.”

Natasha walked to the edge of the sidewalk to hail a cab. If she’d been paying more attention to where she was walking and less to scanning the streets for a cab then she might have noticed the patch of ice on the sidewalk.

But she didn’t.

Her heel slipped on the ice and the next thing she knew, she was sideways on the ground, her head smacked hard against the concrete and her left arm twisted in a way that was probably unnatural and definitely very painful.

“Fuck,” she hissed, reaching up with her good hand to clutch her head. Oh, great. Blood.

“Natasha!” Came Pepper’s panicked yell. She felt the other woman kneel down beside her and remove her hand so she could check her head. “Oh shit, oh shit. You’re bleeding. Oh god.”

“I’m fine,” Natasha grunted, but the fact that she was still keeping her eyes closed in pain probably was not that convincing.

“I’m calling 911,” Pepper said. Natasha finally opened her eyes to see a small, curious crowd surrounding them and the normally stoic, composed Pepper Potts with a look of panic in her eyes. Well, a bleeding head injury could be a pretty scary sight, she supposed.

“Just hail a cab,” Natasha said, trying to move and finding it hurt her arm too much. “It’ll be faster.”

“Right, okay, yeah.” Pepper stood, careful to watch her step. Then she reached down to help Natasha stand, using her good arm to pull her up. Shit, that made her a little dizzy.

Pepper got them a cab and they piled in. “Take us to the nearest hospital,” she told the driver, and he sped off.

“You don’t have to come with me,” Natasha protested weakly.

“I’m not leaving you alone,” Pepper said, an edge of panic still in her voice. “You hit your head. You could have a concussion or something.” Her phone rang and Pepper pulled it out. “It’s Tony, I gotta answer.”

Natasha nodded, then regretted it immediately. Her head hurt, dammit.

“Tony?” Pepper said into her phone. “Natasha fell and hit her head, and it’s bleeding so I’m taking her to the hospital. Also, her arm twisted pretty bad when she fell so it has to be broken… yeah… okay, thanks… love you, too.” She hung up. “Tony’s calling the hospital ahead for us. His friend is a doctor there, he’ll get you in right away.”

Natasha considered protesting just on stubborn principal, but hey, he was offering and she would really like her arm to stop bending this way. She closed her eyes, but then she heard the cab driver say, “Hey, lady, if you could have a concussion you’re not supposed to sleep.”

“Oh, yeah,” Pepper muttered. “Thanks.” Then she turned to Natasha. “Okay, I think I’m supposed to ask you questions and stuff… uh, what’s your favorite Christmas movie?”

Natasha groaned quietly. It was going to be a long cab ride.

\------------

She did not, as it turned out, have a concussion – just a nasty cut and accompanying bruise on her temple, and an arm that had to be broken in at least one place.

She was sitting in a hospital room by herself, as Pepper had gone out to find snacks, waiting for her X-rays to come back so she could get a cast and go home already. She was bored out of her mind, having resorted to counting ceiling tiles, when the door to her room burst open and Clint rushed in.

“Natasha!” He exclaimed. She was surprised speechless. He walked quickly over to the bed, eyes scanning her, taking in the bandage on her head and the way she held her arm curled protectively against her body. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, “I’m fine. How did you…?”

“I was with Tony when he called Pepper,” he answered. His eyes were still wide with worry, always coming back to the bandage on her head. “He said you were going to the hospital because you hit your head and it was bleeding and _fuck,_ I’m so glad you’re okay.”

He was breathing fast, and Natasha realized that he must have been scared. She thought about if the situation were reversed and she felt sick.

“I’m fine,” she assured him. He looked into her eyes, and he was standing pretty close. He looked relieved, as if he finally believed that she was okay. Then suddenly he was leaning down to kiss her, and she was weak so she leaned up to let him. Her lips were dry and he was shaking a little, but the kiss was soft and gentle and she melted.

She closed her eyes, letting the feelings wash over her for a few seconds before she remembered herself and pulled back.

His eyes were wet when she opened hers. “Clint,” she said on a broken whisper. He nodded, looking down and pulling himself upright. He leaned against the railing of her bed, his hands gripping it so tight his knuckles were turning white. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he repeated.

Then the door opened again, and this time it was Pepper on the other side. “Oh,” she said softly when she saw Clint. He released her bed railing and took a step back. “Uh, hi Clint.”

“Pepper.” He nodded once in terse greeting, not quite meeting her eyes. “I guess I’d better go.”

“Don’t leave on my account,” Pepper said. “I can –“

“No, no,” Clint said. Natasha saw his jaw twitch. He tossed one last, sad look at her and then skirted past Pepper without another word.

“What happened?” Pepper asked, coming over and handing her a bag of chips and a water. She took them gratefully. She hadn’t had much to eat at the party.

“Tony told him where I was,” she answered simply, not meeting her friend’s eyes. “Anyway, you can go home now. I don’t have a concussion, and I have no idea how long this will be. Plus, you have an early flight to catch, don’t you?”

“If you’re sure you don’t need anything else?” Pepper asked. Natasha assured her that she did not, and with a careful hug and instructions to call if she needed anything, she left.

Her phone buzzed. It was from Steve, a picture of him and Bucky both wearing Santa hats.

_Steve: Merry Christmas Eve! You’re coming over for Christmas dinner tomorrow, right?_

_Natasha: Nah, a couple’s first Christmas together is special, I hear._

_Bucky: Steve shouldn’t have phrased that as a question. You’re coming._

The prospect of crashing their romantic Christmas together was even less appealing than spending it alone. She thought about telling them she was in the hospital to stave them off, but knew they’d only come rushing over to see her. So she sent back a _‘maybe’_ and put her phone away, just as her door opened and a doctor came in. He was grinning.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m Dr. Banner. You’re Natasha Romanoff? Pepper’s friend?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Ms. Romanoff, I have some very interesting news for you,” he said, pulling up a chair to sit next to her.

“Is it about my arm?”

“Sort of,” he said. “Oh, yes, you did break it in two places. But that’s not the interesting part.” He opened the file he was holding to look at something in it, and shook his head with a smile. “It’s unbelievable. I never thought I’d see anything like this.”

She was starting to get annoyed. She was not at all surprised this guy was friends with Tony. “And?”

He looked up from his precious file. “Have you ever heard of Ivan Yakiv Syndrome?”

“No.”

“Most people haven’t. It’s a very rare genetic condition in which a person’s soulmark actually appears underneath their skin rather than on top of it. Are you from Asia or Eastern Europe by any chance?”

“Russia… Are you saying I _have_ this condition?”

Dr. Banner nodded. “There have been maybe ten reported cases in the last 50 or 60 years. More people probably have it, but they never know.”

“So how did you find out I have it?”

“Oh!” Dr. Banner pulled something out of the folder. “Sorry, should have told you. It showed up on your X-Ray. The words weren’t clear at first, but I had a tech enhance the image. I have no way of telling how long you’ve had it, but maybe you haven’t heard the words yet.”

He held out an X-ray so she could see it and her breath caught in her throat. It was her arm. She could see the two breaks in her bone, but she could also see five words written across her forearm, apparently underneath the skin: _Please let it be you._

Those were the first words Clint had ever spoken to her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's where her mark is... :) 
> 
> I have no medical knowledge, so I may have taken some liberties as to what would actually show up on an X-ray. Forgive me.
> 
> Next time: Natasha tells Clint the news and the story finally earns its rating.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you soooooo much to Eleri, Bruh, Brianna, scribblemyname, curlyhairedkatniss, maara, daughterofrohan, PanicMoon15, agentsofpuppies, Bluesy_Deth, Bunnywest, PlumisNoctis, stefaniegk, sillystarshine, immadreamer975, nathanielbarton, PictureThis, marvel_grl, Da+biggest+fan+of+dis+story, Melissa, ARussian, zombie_socks, starrynightshade, Cintasha_rocks, Karolina94, beneathground, AhsokaTano11, auwana, Supercatural98, avengedbarnes, CandyBooks, RandomFangirl, lia, SAJBlom, m0th3rw4r, bhowedes, Hand_of_the_Alex, Arej, bigbobsbeepers, bigskyavenger, flora, Wolfwitch, Amie, seremela05, Tiresias, thegirlwiththeironheart, 13isanumber, mypedia, FrostRoamer, wildpeace, jdrox, and twilightshadow for commenting on the last chapter! 
> 
> You guys are seriously the best. I hope you like fluff and smut.

When Natasha finally left the hospital, she had a cast on her arm, a bandage on her head, and a grin on her face big enough to make her cheeks ache. She could have skipped home had it not been for the lingering headache and the fact that it was freezing outside.

As soon as the shock of seeing her soulmark for the first time had worn off, she hadn’t been able to stop smiling. It seemed so obvious all the sudden – of _course_ Clint was her soulmate. She shouldn’t have needed her mark to tell her that. She could never and would never love anyone more.

She left the hospital as fast as she could while still watching out for icy patches.

Clint wasn’t there when she got home, which didn’t surprise her. It wasn’t even eleven yet, and he’d been getting home very late. She thought about calling him, but this was definitely the type of news she needed to tell him in person. But at least she could finally change out of her dress.

The wait was interminable. She paced the living room until she got dizzy. She tried to practice a ballet routine but couldn’t concentrate. She collapsed on the couch and stared at her X-ray again but was too restless to sit still.

She tried, for a moment, to imagine what it would have been like if she had her mark on her skin, if she’d known the instant she met him that she and Clint were soulmates. If, after she said ‘nice to meet you’ and his eyes went wide and he said ‘please let it be you,’ she would have known that yes, it _was_ her. She could have pulled up the sleeve of her shirt and shown him her mark, where his words were written and maybe he would have traced over them lovingly while their friends gasped and cheered.

But would she have been happier that way? It would have saved them a lot of pain, true. But then she never would have known if she was falling in love with him because of him or because the mark on her arm was telling her to. At least this way, despite the longing and suffering it had caused them, loving him had felt like an inevitable choice; it was her destiny, but she chose it nonetheless. 

Then those thoughts also failed to occupy her for long and she went back to pacing the room, waiting for her soulmate’s return.

She was nearly jumping out of her skin by the time she finally heard the key scrape in the lock. She had turned all the lights off but the ones on the Christmas tree, which had seemed romantic at the time but now felt like a bit too much. Then again, she was about to tell the man she was in love with that she was his soulmate, so maybe a little romance was called for.

“Nat?” He sounded confused and he flipped the light switch. Well, there went her mood lighting.

She just looked at him for a moment, almost as if she were seeing him for the first time. He was still wearing his tuxedo pants, but his jacket, dress shirt, and tie were slung over his arm, leaving him in a white T-shirt. He needed a haircut and a shave, but to her he looked perfect. 

“Uh… how’s your arm?”

“Never been better.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really?” Looked pointedly at her cast.

“Come on.” She waved him closer with her good arm and sat down on the couch. Clint looked perplexed at her sudden change of attitude and rubbed a hand over his face, but came over to her anyway and sat down warily next to her. She had no idea what he must be thinking – he kept his face carefully blank as he waited for her to speak, which was something that always amazed her about him. He normally had such an expressive face, except when he was being particularly guarded or cautious. Then he could keep his face so still he hardly blinked.

She took a deep breath, trying and failing to keep the grin off her face. “I have a condition.”

“A condition?” His poker face cracked a bit. “Something bad?”

“No – well, I suppose yes, it has caused me a lot of problems. One big one in particular… but it’s good now.”

“Ta – Nat,” he dropped his face into his hands. “What’s going on? You’ve hardly looked at me for the past two weeks and now you’re being all cryptic and smiley and I’m a little confused here.”

“I have something called Ivan Yakiv Syndrome. It means my soulmark appears underneath my skin instead of on top of it. It showed up on my X-ray.”

“So… you have your mark?”

She nodded, lips pressed together to try to keep her face under control. God, all she wanted to do was kiss him. But he had to know first.

She picked up the manila folder off the coffee table and handed it to him. He opened it and pulled out the X-ray, holding it up to the light. She watched his face carefully, waiting for the moment he would realize. His lips moved over the words and his jaw dropped. He let go of the X-ray and looked at her, eyes blown wide with amazement, disbelief, and so much hope she could hardly take it.

“Natasha… those were my first words to you.”

She nodded, throat suddenly too thick to form words.

“Does this mean what I think it means?” A grin started making a tentative appearance on his face. She nodded again, and god, she was already crying. “Tasha,” he whispered hoarsely, hands coming up to frame her face. She cupped one of his hands in her non-wrapped one, stroking the back of it with her thumb, and gave him a watery smile.

He laughed. She didn’t think she had ever seen him so happy. “You’re my _soulmate_.”

“I am,” she said on a broken laugh. “And you’re mine.”

He whispered her name reverently and then his lips were on hers. They were smiling and kissing and there were tears on both of their cheeks and they frequently had to break apart to laugh. “I hoped it was you,” he said between kisses. “It seemed impossible, but I always hoped there was some way it would be you.”

“It’s a regular Christmas miracle,” Natasha said, lips brushing against his as she spoke.

“Oh,” Clint breathed, grin widening. “It’s Christmas, isn’t it?”

Barely. “Yes.” She brought his lips back down. The kiss started off like the last few, sweet and soft, but quickly grew deeper. Natasha turned to face him more fully and wound her arms around his neck. She wasn’t sure if she pulled or he pushed, but somehow she ended up laying on the couch, Clint on top of her. He had a huge, goofy grin on his face and she was sure hers was the same. She moved to kiss him but he pulled back a little, eyes going to the bandage on her head.

“Are you sure you’re okay to –“

“Yes,” she said quickly. “No concussion, I’m fine.” She pressed a kiss to his mouth before he could say anything and she felt more than heard his chuckle. Her eagerness might have embarrassed her with anyone else, but this was Clint. Her _soulmate._ Kissing him now was even better than the first time, because now she had no fears in the back of her mind, no voices telling her she couldn’t do this. Just love and lust and _oh god, yes._ She arched up against him when he sucked on her lower lip, and she slid her hands up his shirt to lightly scrape her nails down his back.

He shuddered against her. “Fuck,” he said, voice rough. “We have too many clothes on.”

She eagerly grabbed the bottom of his shirt and tugged it up, but he seemed unwilling to break the kiss long enough for her to get it off. “Clint,” she said against his lips, laughing softly.

He groaned but sat up a little, practically tearing his shirt off. Hers followed. His mouth was back on hers the second her shirt sailed free of her arms. She was about to remove her bra too when he stopped her, placing a hand on her wrist and panting, “Bed.”

She nodded and he stood, dragging her with him. They kept kissing as they made their way to the nearest bedroom - hers – removing clothes as they went. They were stripped down to nothing but their underwear by the time they reached the bed. She was completely lost in the feel of his skin and his hands on her body, hardly noticed Clint was picking her up until he had tipped her back against the covers, mouth at her neck and one hand cupping her breast, the other slipping beneath the waistband of her panties.

“Oh, _fuck,”_ she cried, hands flying to grip the sheets, scrambling to find something to hold onto. She felt him smile against her skin. “Don’t – don’t be smug,” she panted, her admonishment completely ruined by the breathy catch in her voice.

He released her long enough to say, “Never,” before she pushed his head back down.

Everything about this was driving her crazy, she hardly knew which sensation to focus on more; the incredible heat of his mouth slowly sucking a mark into her neck, the rasp of his stubble that was just barely brushing the top of her breast, the maddening way his fingers were avoiding the one spot she wanted them the most.

Of _course_ he would be a tease.

“Clint,” she practically whined. But she was absolutely _not_ begging. Natasha Romanoff did not beg.

“Something you wanted?” His cocky smirk should have annoyed her but goddamn if it didn’t just make her wetter. She could tell by the way his eyes widened that he felt it, and that apparently did it for him because he finally pushed one finger slowly into her, bringing his thumb up to rub her clit.

She let out a gasp, head tipping back and all but bucking against his hand. She didn’t remember closing her eyes, but when she opened them he was right there, watching her face as he swirled his thumb in perfect circles around her most sensitive spot.

Then she was kissing him again, couldn’t not kiss him, releasing small sounds of pleasure into his mouth as he continued to stroke her. When she pulled away it was only to breathe, and then to groan when he added another finger. And curse him when he pulled them away.

He just smirked and pulled her underwear off, trailing slow kisses down her chest. She knew what he wanted to do, could read in his eyes the way he wanted to slowly worship her. He’d probably spend the whole night at it if she let him. That thought sent a pleasant jolt through her, but patience was a virtue she severely lacked at the moment.

Before he could even reach her breasts, she hooked her legs around his waist, rolling them over so she was straddling him. Only one layer left between them and she could feel him clearly, unable to stop herself from rocking against him.

It was his turn to tilt his head back and groan. He was incredibly hard beneath her and his hands gripped her waist so tight he was probably going to leave a mark.

“Tasha,” he ground out between gritted teeth. “You’re driving me crazy.”

Unlike him, Natasha was in no mood to tease so she quickly pulled his underwear down and effectively destroyed the last shred of her patience. She gracelessly removed her own underwear and was positioning herself above him when his hands tightened on her waist, stilling her. “Condom,” he gasped out.

 _Shit_ , she had almost forgotten. Hastily, she reached over to the nightstand where she kept her purse to fish a condom out – unwittingly but fortuitously dangling her breasts over Clint’s face as she did so. He lifted his head to her breast, sucking hard and nearly blinding her.

She moaned, clutching his head to her breast and grinding against his bare cock. He let go of her to let out a deep, desperate groan – a sound she was quickly growing to love.

“Tasha.” His voice was hoarse and shaky. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I know,” she said softly, and leaned down to kiss him, deep and slow and sensuous. When they parted, he smiled.

“You ready?” He asked.

Unable to find words, Natasha just nodded and sat up, rolled the condom on quickly, and slid down in one long, perfect stretch, not stopping until her ass rested on his thighs.

She shivered, mouth open on a silent moan. She had to take a moment to adjust. Clint was average length but incredibly thick, and she felt stretched to the limit in the best possible way. His hands stroked soothingly along her thighs even though she could see his jaw was tight, and the veins in his arms and neck strained as he clearly struggled to stay in control.

She privately thought she would like to see him lose control a bit. But she could save that for another time.

Right now, she leaned forward to brace her hands next to Clint’s head, putting most of her weight on the unbroken one, and started moving. He was looking right into her eyes and she almost balked at the intimacy of it. But she _had_ to look at him, had to watch the way his expression changed as she moved on him, his jaw tensing and releasing.

“Tasha,” he said, just an exhale of her name but she knew exactly what he meant, could see the love and amazement in his eyes. And then the intimacy really was overwhelming, so she closed her eyes and leaned down to kiss him, which really just made the feelings more intense. But after denying herself for two months, she never wanted to stop kissing him again.

She felt one of his hands go to the back of her head, tangling through her hair as he kissed her. The other he wedged between them to cup her breast, stroking her nipple more gently than she normally liked, more a tease than anything.

“Harder,” she groaned. He just kept stroking lightly over it, sending tiny little shockwaves down her core. He tried to kiss her again but she held back, waiting until he got the hint. Finally he smirked and pinched, hard, just how she liked it. 

She cried out, crashing her lips back down to his. For a moment unable to move, she allowed herself to get lost in the kiss before she felt him shift beneath her and flip them over, pinning her with his weight. He almost slipped out of her in the process but one hard thrust and he was back in, leaving her gasping.

“Oh, are you in charge now?” She asked breathlessly, trying to sound flippant but failing when another thrust made her moan.

“You okay with that?”

She normally wouldn’t have been, not with anyone else. She hadn’t always been on top in her previous encounters, but even when she wasn’t it was very clear that she still held the reins. She didn’t like to feel vulnerable or out of control. But the way Clint was pressed against her, enough so she could feel his weight but not so much that he was crushing her, did nothing but turn her on.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Fuck.”

She was already close and, with this change in position, getting closer. She was moaning at every thrust, for the first time in her life allowing herself just to feel the pleasure without having to control it, letting Clint push her higher and higher.

His hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb tracing over her lips and eyes gazing at her in wonder and she knew she had to be looking at him the same way, could feel the love pounding through her heart. Her skin practically glowed with it.

Unable to stop the joy from bubbling forth, she grinned and Clint grinned too. And then he shifted, hooking her legs over his arms so she he could thrust deeper and she actually whimpered.

“Close, Clint, so close,” she breathed. In response, he slowly slid one hand down her stomach and stroked his fingers around her, again avoiding the spot she really wanted. “Please, please,” she begged, beyond caring that Natasha Romanoff did not beg because apparently she begged for Clint and it worked because one finger finally found her clit, just barely brushing it once, twice. But it was enough.

She broke, letting out a wordless cry as she shook and clenched and trembled around him. Through the waves of pleasure, she felt him thrust into her a few more times before he was stiffening and shaking too. He groaned her name into her ear, still thrusting erratically as he rode it out, prolonging her own aftershocks until she was a panting, sweaty, pleasured mess beneath him.

He collapsed on top of her for a moment before rolling over, taking her with him so she was sprawled over his chest. She couldn’t help but sigh when she felt him slip out of her.

Breathe still evening out, Clint’s hands came up and stroked soothing circles on her back. She rested her broken arm across his stomach, absentmindedly stroking his soulmark with the fingers that poked free from her cast.

She had never had this part before. Sex for her had always ended with the act and she had never stayed to cuddle with anyone. But with Clint she wanted to prolong this as long as possible. Despite her exhaustion, she did not want to sleep; being awake was just too good.

She wondered if this was how everyone felt the first time they had sex with their soulmate.

“Worth the wait,” Clint said softly, kissing the top of her head.

“Aaw.” Natasha chuckled, turning her head where it rested on his chest to so she could meet his eyes. She propped her chin up on her good hand. “What a sap.”

“I accept that title proudly. I’m feeling very sappy right now. I may recite you poetry or something.”

“I will give you fifty dollars if you can _name_ a poem.”

“… Does Dr. Seuss count?”

She just laughed, turning her head to rest on his chest again. She was silent for a long moment, listening to his heartbeat. Then she asked quietly, “Do you think we’d ever have found out? If I hadn’t broken my arm?”

“I hope so,” Clint said. He paused, sifting his fingers through her hair. “I knew I loved you. I couldn’t imagine loving anyone more, even if they were supposedly my soulmate.”

“I guess after so much time had passed without you meeting your soulmate, I wouldn’t have been able to resist you much longer.”

“I am pretty irresistible.”

She rolled her eyes. Even though yeah, he kind of was. But she was biased. “I just mean that you’re supposed to meet your soulmate within about a year of getting your mark. So you’d have had it for a year and we probably would have thought the person had died. Even though I don’t think that’s supposed to happen.”

Clint shrugged. “Yeah, that may have been what I thought… although it did cross my mind that since you had said my words that maybe you were my soulmate but I wasn’t yours.”

She shifted up on one arm to look at him. “That’s kind of depressing. Can that actually happen?”

“I don’t think so. But who knows?” He reached up with one hand to stroke her cheek. She smiled softly and leaned into his palm.

“Well, I’m very happy that you are my soulmate.”

“I’m fucking _ecstatic_ that you’re mine.”

“It’s not a competition, Barton.”

“Is too. I used the bigger word, I win.”

She shut him up with a kiss. She was happy – ecstatic, even – that she could do that now. She was just wondering what his recovery time was when he suddenly broke the kiss, a wide grin overtaking his face.

“It’s Christmas!” He said, as if just realizing.

“Yes… we’ve established that, Clint.”

“That means I can give you your present now!”

He sat up suddenly, taking her with him. He lifted her off of his lap and set her back down so quickly that she squeaked in surprise. “Meet me in the living room!” He said, then walked naked out of her room. Natasha took a moment to appreciate the view before getting up to fetch his gift. It was still in the shopping bag in her closet; she never had wrapped it, being uncertain whether she would ever give it to him.

She went out to the living room and he wasn’t there yet. She found his shirt where it had been tossed on the floor and slipped it on, then sat down on the couch to wait for him.

He gave her a quick once over when he walked out and grinned. “That’s my new favorite shirt.” Then his eye caught the bag in her hands. “That my present?” He made his way over to her, set his own wrapped package down on the coffee table, and made grabby hands at her like a child.

She smiled indulgently and passed the bag over to him. “Sorry it’s not wrapped.”

“Just makes it easier to get into,” he said, enthusiastically reaching into the bag. Natasha watched him nervously. He pulled out the bundle, which was wrapped in brown paper. “Ah, see it’s kinda wrapped.” He unfolded the paper and revealed the copper dog figures she’d gotten a few days ago.

“They’re antique,” Natasha said nervously, surprised at how anxious she was for him to like them.

“Tasha,” he said, picking up and looking at each dog individually, a wide grin on his face. “I love them.” He leaned over to kiss her. “Thank you, baby.”

“You’re wel – baby?”

He winced. “Too much?”

She repeated it in her head, surprised at how much it didn’t bother her. “You’re cute enough to get away with it.”

“Aaw, thanks sweetheart –“

“No.”

“Understood.” He grinned, then handed her the gift from the coffee table. “Here, open yours.”

She took it and tore into the wrapping paper immediately. Clint looked surprised. “I totally expected you to be one of those people that savors the unwrapping thing.”

She didn’t reply; she had no words. It appeared that he’d gotten her something antique too. It was a very old, fraying copy of a children’s fairy tale book; Рубин красный - _Ruby Red._

“Sorry it’s a little damaged,” he said. She looked up at him in time to see his hand go to the back of his neck. “There aren’t a ton of copies in America, it turns out. This was one of the only ones I could find online…” he trailed off, looking at her with a hesitant smile on his face.

“You’re kind of amazing, you know that?” Natasha said, letting emotion wash over her expression and voice. “I can’t believe you even thought of this.”

“Remember that morning?” He asked. “After you were telling me the story and we fell asleep on the couch?” She nodded. Of course she remembered. “Waking up with you felt so right. That’s when I realized I was in love with you.”

“Oh,” she breathed. “Such a sap,” she whispered, voice broken and moisture pooling in the corner of her eyes as she leaned over to kiss him, practically crawling into his lap. Maybe he was a sap but he was her sap now and he was turning her into a bit of a sap too because when she finally broke the kiss it was to pant, “I love you."

“Tasha.” That nickname was going to send warmth through her every time he said it now. He grinned, her favorite face-crinkling grin, then kissed her. “Please say it again.”

“I love you,” she whispered into his ear. He peppered a series of kisses against her cheek, along the line of her jaw.

“I love you,” he said into her neck. “I love you so fucking much.” He tugged her – well, _his –_ shirt down as much as he could and kissed along her collar bones. She tilted her head back and gripped the back of his head. “I love you,” he repeated against her skin.

“Prove it.”

That earned her a lascivious grin. “Right away, ma’am,” he said, and carried her back to bed. 

It was almost three in the morning by the time they were done. She was about to drift off to sleep, Clint’s arm draped across her stomach and his head next to hers on the pillow, when he mumbled, “Hey, Tasha?”

“Hmm?”

“How does that story end?”

It took her a moment to remember what he was talking about. “ _Ruby Red?”_

“Yeah. I fell asleep before the ending.”

She opened her eyes to find him watching her sleepily. She figured she had about 30 seconds before one or both of them fell asleep.

“On the day she’s supposed to marry the nobleman, she runs into the prince. She says _‘your highness,’_ which is his soulmark. He tells her this, and she says she wishes her soulmark didn’t say _‘next person,’_ which of course it doesn’t. She shows him, he tells her it actually says _‘hello there.’_ They figure out they’re soulmates, the nobleman gets eaten by a bear, and Ruby Red and the prince get married.”

Clint smiled, his eyes closed. “Happily ever after, huh?”

“Yes.”

“That’s pretty cheesy, you know.”

She closed her eyes too. “I know.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple things:
> 
> 1\. This was my first ever attempt at writing sex. I'm honestly blushing right now. I hope it turned out okay. 
> 
> 2\. I got the Russian translation from the internet, so sorry if it's not right! 
> 
> Next time: The epilogue.


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Bunnywest, zombie_socks, Ab4normal, Nope, ARussian, avengedbarnes, AhsokaTano11, Ntasharomanvs, Bruh, immadreamer975, daughterofrohan, BlueMonday24, scribblemyname, Clintasha_rocks, PlumisNoctis, starrynightshade, scribaversutus, stefaniegk, sillystarshine, Karolina94, CandyBooks, m0th3rw4r, Arej, nathanielbarton, agentsofpuppies, ewa, wildpeace, Amie, Hand_of_the_Alex, spencerman, Cup_aTea, and SAJBlom for commenting on the last chapter!
> 
> And thank you to everyone who has commented, left kudos, and read this story! Special shout out to daughterofrohan for being the champion of this fic on Tumblr and to nathanielbarton for making this kickass gifset - http://nathanielbarton.tumblr.com/post/129344843916/chapter-10-of-great-inaudible-feelings-by 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the epilogue!

He bought the ring the day after Valentine’s Day. Together for less than two months, known each other for less than four, and he bought a goddamn engagement ring.

Natasha apparently hated the idea of going out on Valentine’s Day. She told him the barrage of red and pink heart decorations and rampant PDA overwhelmed her. So they stayed in bed (and on the couch and against the wall) all night, and Clint had absolutely no problem with that.

The next day, high on love and life and walking through Manhattan on his day off, he passed a jewelry store. He must have went into some kind of trance, because he walked out a few minutes later with a ring in his pocket wondering what the hell he had just done.

Natasha moved slowly, and he knew that. There were some soulmates who got married weeks after meeting, others who waited years, and others who never got married at all. Natasha was at _least_ a years person. Clint would have been ready to marry her three months ago, but he did tend to make rash decisions.

Hence buying this ring.

He hid it in his dirty laundry pile when he got home, which he knew Natasha would never go near, and tried to put it out of his mind.  

She was later than usual getting home that night. It was his day to deal with dinner, so pizza was on the table and he was fighting with himself to wait until she got home to start eating. He opened the box for the fifth time, just to check on it, when he finally heard the scrape of the lock.

“Sorry I’m late,” Natasha said, coming into the kitchen to give him a kiss. “I got distracted by something in a store window.”

Clint was half a second away from saying, ‘me too,’ but he stopped himself in time.

“Yeah?” He said instead. “What was it?”

She gave him an uncharacteristically shy smile, then pulled a necklace out from where it had been hidden under the collar of her shirt. It was a little silver arrow.

He studied her for a moment then swallowed, throat dry. “Because of me?” She nodded.

Suddenly he was pressing her against the fridge and kissing her hard. Something primal and possessive flared up inside him, and all he wanted at that moment was to have her writhing and moaning underneath him, wearing nothing but that necklace.

Her eyes were dark when they pulled apart. She laughed, that deep, husky laugh that drove him crazy and said, “I’m guessing you like it?”

“Yeah,” he panted, eyes drawn down to see it resting against her shirt. A little arrow, bought because she associated it with him. “Let me show you how much.” He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist, latching her mouth onto the pulse point in his neck. He growled, if only because he knew she liked it when he made that sound.

“What about the pizza?” She asked breathlessly as he carried her to bed.

“It’s better cold anyway.”

\--------------

For their sixth month anniversary they went out to a fancy restaurant. Natasha had proclaimed only year-long anniversaries actually counted, but he’d bribed her with the promise of him in a dress shirt because it had apparently “done all kinds of things” for her the only other time she’d seen him wear one.

He’d all but forgotten about the ring hidden in the spare room – “his” room, he corrected himself, even though he hadn’t spent a night outside her bed in months. But now the candle at their table was making her skin glow and her hair dance like fire and she was laughing softly at some joke he couldn’t even remember telling because it took all of his mental faculty just to keep from blurting out ‘will you marry me?’

“Clint?” She waved her hand in front of his face. Oh, shit, she’d been speaking. “You in there?”

“Yeah, sorry.” He shook his head. “What was that?”

She looked at him searchingly for a moment, then said, “I asked if that dog you were talking about had found a home yet?”

“Oh.” He shook his head sadly. “No. We’ve got a lot of puppies in right now, and no one looks at the older dogs when there are puppies around.” Especially not ones like Lucky, who had just had surgery. He spent all his time at the shelter huddled in his crate, laying down on his side to accommodate the cone he had to wear.

“Well, I was thinking,” Natasha said. “Maybe we could adopt him.”

He felt his eyebrows go up. “You wouldn’t rather have a cat?”

“A cat can come later.” She shrugged one shoulder, shifting her hair as she did so, the curls tumbling down her back. “I can tell you already love this dog. And I love you.”

He was grateful then that he hadn’t brought the ring, because if he had there would have been no way he could have stopped himself. 

\-----------

Some months later, he was at home watching TV with Lucky while Natasha was out with Pepper. He was eagerly anticipating her return. She hadn’t told him where they were going, and the last time that happened she’d come back from a trip to some fancy lingerie store with three bags. It had been a very good night. He still had dreams about it sometimes.

He looked up when he heard the door open. She entered with no bags, but she was holding her left arm behind her back.

“Hey, Nat,” he said, sitting up straighter. Lucky jumped off the couch and bounded over to her. She pet him with her right hand, then walked into the living room. Clint stood, greeting her with a kiss. She still kept her left arm hidden away. “Got a secret?” He teased.

She grinned, nodding. “Sure do. Wanna know what it is?”

“Sure do.”

She moved her arm out from behind her back, and now Clint could see a large white bandage covering her entire inner forearm. And she was moving it slowly, like it was tender.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, reaching out to gently cradle her arm.

“No,” she said. Her previously wide grin had transformed into something softer, a mixture of love and a little bit of shyness that he’d only known her to wear in particularly intimate moments. “Look under the bandage.”

Not knowing what to expect, Clint obeyed and gently peeled the tape off one side of the gauze and lifted it. He gasped aloud.

There on her arm was a tattoo of her soulmark, right where he knew the actual thing to be written underneath her skin.

“Tasha,” he breathed.

“I got tired of explaining it to people,” she said. “Plus, I wanted to be able to see it. I wanted us both to be able to see it. I get to see my words on your skin. You should get to see yours on mine.”

He said nothing, wasn’t even sure that he was capable of speech. He gently cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, trying to put all of his feelings into it. From the way she responded, he could tell she understood.

He decided then that she may be ready for him to propose.

\----------

He was antsy now. Just as when he’d first bought the ring, he checked on it obsessively, going frequently into the spare room to look at it or move it around. Suddenly no hiding spot seemed secure enough; one moment he’d have it in the bottom dresser drawer under some socks he’d never bothered to clear out. Another it would be on the highest shelf in the closet, or underneath the end table, or the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.

Whenever Natasha wasn’t home, he’d go make sure it was undisturbed and think of ways he could ask her. He had three different plans for the how. The hard part, though, was the when. There never seemed to be a right time. First it was Bucky and Steve getting married, and then Thor and Jane. He didn’t want to steal anyone’s thunder, or make it seem like he was just jumping on the marriage bandwagon – _hey, all our friends are doing it._

He’d just have to wait a little while, was all. He put it out of his mind as best he could, and after a while he almost forgot about it again.

\-----------

It was Christmas night. He and Natasha were laying naked on the floor of the living room because he’d thought it would be romantic to have sex in front of the tree on Christmas. And he was totally right, it was _awesome_. She was laying on his chest, her cheek above his heart and his hand stroking her hair. He’d be perfectly happy if he never had to move from this spot.

Natasha, it seemed, felt differently. She sat up and slipped on his discarded shirt, then stood. He made a small noise of discontent at her covering up and she smiled indulgently at him.

“It’s cold,” she said. 

“What? Natasha Romanoff is cold?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not actually immune to cold, Clint, despite my heritage.”

“Why do you have to get up anyway?” He sat up and stroked her leg. “I’ll keep you warm, baby.”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said with exaggerated patience.

“Okay,” he said and stood up. “But you failed to consider one thing.”

“Yeah?” She crossed her arms, somewhere between amused and impatient. “What’s that?”

“I’m faster!” Before she could react, he skirted around her and ran into their room, slamming the bathroom door behind him.

“Clint!” She yelled from the living room. “You are a child!”

When he went back into the living room she was gone. The door to the spare room was open, so she must be using the bathroom in there. The cat, Liho, was sitting on the coffee table and he could swear she was giving him the same annoyed face Natasha sometimes did. Lucky slept away on the couch, undisturbed.

Clint slipped on his boxers because, okay, it _was_ kind of cold without Natasha laying on top of him. He settled down on the couch next to Lucky to wait for her. He closed his eyes and was drifting off when he heard her voice.

“Uh, Clint?” He couldn’t read her tone, which raised his hackles instantly. He had gotten good at reading her over the last year. It was rare and disconcerting when he couldn’t tell what she was feeling.

His eyes popped open and then nearly bugged out. _Oh, shit fuck._

She was standing in front of him, holding the ring box in her hand.

Why, _why_ had he thought anywhere in the bathroom was a good hiding place? Why?

He stood up slowly. “I… uh…” He couldn’t speak, completely at a loss for words. She had stepped closer and he could see that the box was open, the ring plainly visible and there was obviously no explaining this away. She was looking at him, searching his eyes, and he still couldn’t read her face. But she at least didn’t seem angry. Or scared.

“How long have you had this?” She asked quietly.

“A few… a few months.” Ten months seemed longer than he really wanted to admit.

She gave a short nod then looked back down at the box. She was close enough to touch now, but he remained still.

After a moment, she lifted his arm and placed the ring box in his hand. “Well? Are you gonna ask me or not?”

His heart faltered in its rhythm for a moment, but he could finally read her face again and that was _happiness_ he saw there, along with that loving, shy little smile he adored so much and he couldn’t help but grin in response.

In the back of his head was the speech he had planned out months ago, the desire to get down on one knee and tell her how his life changed when he met her, how he hadn’t believed in marriage until he loved her, how she made him a better person and his life was brighter because she existed. But one look at her face and he could tell she already knew. And felt the same.

Maybe it wasn’t what he’d planned, barely dressed and post-coital in the living room. But hey, it was Christmas night and they were in front of a twinkling tree. Maybe this was how it was supposed to go all along.

He took a shaky breath. Though her smile and the fact that they were soulmates made him pretty confident of what her answer was going to be, he still found himself swallowing nervously when he asked. “Natasha, will you marry me?”

Her smile grew. She reached out her hands to cup his face. “Yes,” she whispered. “Of course. Yes.”

He laughed joyfully, slipped the ring on her waiting finger, and kissed her until he ran out of breath. And then some more. As he carried her, laughing and kissing into the bedroom, he thought _yes,_ this was exactly how it was supposed to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it on this story! I hope you liked the foray into Clint's POV.
> 
> I'm sorry I didn't get Steve and Bucky's reaction in*. I had a version of the epilogue that included them, but it threw the entire flow off so I had to scrap it. But I hope you enjoyed it anyway! The response to this story has been more than I expected and it's made me so happy. I'm in the planning stages for another story so hopefully I'll be able to get that out soon. :)
> 
> *I wrote a short little comment fic about it though


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